Of Wolves and Dragons
by Limited Imagination
Summary: Jon Snow's sparks ignited when he caught a pox at eight. Join Jon and his new dysfunctional family in their lives through the multiverse. Will he ever return to Winterfell? Will he be a dire wolf or will he be a dragon? Or he will be both, just not in the way anyone expected. Set before Innistrad block. A Crack with plots story, so it will be bonkers, dirty and sometimes dark AF.
1. Chapter 1 The Bastard

**Chapter 1: The Bastard**

It is a quiet night at Winterfell. The moon is full, the air cold. Some may say it is a typical night for the northern capital. A long summer will continue for a few more years, so there is little to be worried about. Still, some may also say that night like these is the perfect night for the unnatural and the mundane to intermingle. Things that most thought a myth will emerge and disrupt the order of the land. Others might say it is hogwash and those who believe that are superstitious fools.

If there is one trait that could use to describe the Starks, that might be it.

Eight years ago, Eddard Stark, Lord Paramount of the North brought a baby boy home. A cute baby boy named Jon Snow, who would later be known as the Bastard of Winterfell. An innocent boy who was a union between love-enchanted free-spirit Lyanna Stark and prophecy obsessed crown prince Rhaegar Targaryen. A union that should not happen. A union that doomed thousands to their death, upturn the order of the nation and sent Westeros to a downward spiral of corruption and debauchery.

The boy, the poor baby boy, was obscured of his origin. For the first eight years of his life, he was bought up by a lie. The father he was led to believe was his uncle. His half-siblings were actually his cousin. His stepmother hated him for his very existence. His rightful claim to the throne was denied and everyone called him a bastard. He knew love and he knew pain. He was learned but he also knew nothing. All because a single promise Eddard Stark made as to the last wish of his dying sister.

A promise that Eddard Stark would keep to himself to the grave. An honorable promise to be sure. To protect his sister only child and the true heir to the iron throne. To prevent his best friend from killing his nephew. To prevent another war for the greater good of Westeros.

**For the greater good, what a horseshit.**

…

Tonight is a quiet night, but also a restless one for the Starks. You see, the boy has fallen ill. The maester said that the boy caught a pox and tonight would decide whether he live or die. If he survives till the dawn come, he will live. If not, then to the Stranger embrace he goes. If he is just another bastard of any noble, no one would bat an eye for his loss, let alone care for him. But he is the Bastard of Ned Stark, and the wolf always cares for their pack.

The air is cold even with the lit fireplace held the darkness of the night at bay. The boy is unconscious, lucky for him. By his side, Catelyn Tully, the lady of Winterfell sitting uncomfortably, praying to the Seven that is one. Her heart is filled with regret. She hates the boy since the first moment her eyes laid on him. She still does. Day and night, she prayed for him to die, for the Stranger to take him away. Why shouldn't she, the boy was a stain in her honor, evidence of her husband infidelity. Yet, she realized that she is the worst woman who ever lives for wishing the death of an innocent child who didn't even know his mother. And now her wish is about to be true, and it pains her like thousand blades stabbing her heart.

Oh, how she prays and prays and prays. Asking the gods to take back the wish she had made. She begged them to spare this child that isn't even hers. The boy is whimpering, coughing harder and harder as his breath was fainting. Sometimes he goes silent, no breath, no cough, for a short while which to her last like an eternity. Every time silent fall upon her, her heart skips the beat. _**Murderer**_. The word rings in her mind. _**Murderer**_.It hurts her as much as it hurts him, if not more. _**Murderer**_.

She beseeches the gods to let him live. She promises she would care for him, be a mother to him, to ask her husband to make him a proper Stark.

"Cat …" She hears her husband calling her name. His footstep is heavy and his voice … his voice is shaken. "You should rest." He places his hand on her shoulder, making her look back at him. Their eyes meet and she could see how it is killing him. How it is killing everyone.

"No." A short answer but it is all she could reply. "I …." She stutters notice the temperature drastically rising. It is as if she is sitting inside a bonfire.

Then it happens. A burning sensation and a dimly glow that she catches with the corner of her eyes. When she turns back, the boy is no longer there.

Stunned. The couple painfully stares at each other, not believing what just happen.

…

Morning comes. The only thing that everyone talks about is that Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell, is dead. Wintertown is dimmed with sorrow as it is mourning per the command of the lord paramount.

The Starks are devastated. Another dead in the family, a bastard or not. An empty grave in the family crypt is allocated to him, just because fewer people would have the chance to found it empty. The Starks children, apart from Robb and Sansa are too young to understand the loss. Robb acts as if he is also dead while he is living. His eyes stare blankly to the sky without any purpose. Sansa, on the other hand, shows that she is grieving for the bastard as a proper lady should. Still, she doesn't understand why her mother is so sad about the death of Jon Snow. She should be glad that the god decides to take him away. At last, the shame of the house is removed. She wants to ask her mother but decides not to. At least not while others are grieving. Maybe in a few months perhaps.

Lord Stark sit grimly inside his solar, of which he bars anyone from entering, even his lady wife. "I'm sorry Lya. I couldn't protect him." Tears drip from his eyes. "I have failed you." He then hears a knocking at the door. Wiping his manly tears from his face, he answers it. On the opposite side of the door is Maester Luwin. "A raven, milord." Said the Maester.

He opens the door and receives the letter, reads it, scrambles it, and throws it to the floor. The massage was simple. _**The Kraken had rebelled**_**.**

"Call all our bannermen, all of them, and get my wife here as soon as possible." He commands.

…

A wise man once says, **"Life is a piece shit … when you look at it." **The same man also preaches that **"You'll see its all a show, keep 'em laughing as you go. Just remember, the last laugh is on you."** Many would tell that man "**Piss Off**". But if it is true, what shows did the gods, if they exist at all, plan for Jon Snow? Hmmm.

I would like, if I may, to take you on a strange journey. It seems a fairly ordinary night, when Jon Snow, a young ordinary kid is high with fever from a pox. It's true that he was on his verge of death. It's true also that his stepmother is praying to the gods for his life. He's just a normal kid on a cold night. It a cold night. A cold night that the Starks going to remember for a very long time.

Imagine a place that contains all there is and can be. A collection of worlds so different from each other where anything one could conceptualize could happen. Those who are lucky enough to possess this knowledge call it the **Multiverse** and each different world inside it a **Plane**. Now. Imagine that all the planes are like a small speck of bubble floating inside a massive ocean of nothingness so vast that there is no way any plane could be near each other, let alone collide. **The** **Blind Eternity** it is called. Only a few could transverse between planes, most of those belong to a group of beings called the planeswalkers.

Planeswalkers come from all walk of life such as scholar, warrior, kings, scientist, cat warrior, dragon, beggar, hunter, minotaur pirate, gorgon assassin, and of course, a baby who didn't know who his parents are. They are special because they possess a spark that allows them to transverse the Blind Eternity unscathed, for a short period of time as repeated use could still harm them. These sparks could only be found in one in billions, and even less so could ignite it and ascend to become a planeswalker. Once, before the fall, the spark gave them power beyond any imagination. They could create lives, destroy worlds, and/or bend gods to their command just by willing it. They think and the multiverse will make it so. Then, the fall happens and now they are less. No longer they could tap into their spark to for unlimited power. Instead, they relied on the mana reserve of each plane. The larger the plane's reserve, the higher upper limit of power they could unleash. Even so, not all planes are equal. Some, like Zendikar and Alara, contains a large amount of reserve and even make the mana so untamed. Others, like the plane little Jon came from, is dying and its mana is running out.

It would be good if it is only that simple. A dark power is rising on that plane, and soon the dead will march upon the living, and there would be no place to hide. But that is a story for another day.

…

Far across the other end of the multiverse, surprisingly a silver full moon also shines brilliantly here even through the dense forest of Ulvenwald. It was a normal night for the denizens of Innistrad. Someone gets brutally murdered here and there. Some others get ripped apart by either a pack of werewolves, a tide of zombies, an unexpected visit by the inquisitions, a vengeful flight of angels, a thirsty party of vampires, or just bunch demons and devils having a good O' time.

Arlinn Kord, the self-proclaimed protector of Ulvenwald, is sure that she used to it by now. Yet, something has disturbed her. An unfamiliar scent kicks her nose. The scent of a human, venerable, weak, and … young? She must hurry, or the others will have their feast. No child should have met their horrible end by the Howlpack of Ulvenwald. Yes, she is a werewolf. Yes, humanity deemed her a beast and will kill her on sight. Yes, she believes in the law of the jungle. But no, she would not let a small child die by doing nothing. Furthermore, she senses something that appeases her from that direction, something that tells her that it is her kin, and she needs to protect the child by any means necessary.

Summoning her strength, she transforms. Her limbs lengthened, her hairs replace most of her clothes, her eyes gleam with power, her fangs become razor-sharp. She howls as she dashed toward the source of the scent as soon as possible, hoping she would not be too late.

What she sees in front of her was a boy, no older than eight. His hair was black and curvy akin to her own. His eyes remain shut as his fainting breath is periodically interrupted by a heavy cough. Something is different for this boy. It is a faint sensation, but it is undeniable. Something about the boy reminds her of a wolf and much more, even though he is fully human. Something that makes her wants to pick him up, nurture him, and watch as he grows.

Well, she isn't too late, per se. But the situation she found is not any better. If she found the child, the others would also do. As powerful as she believes herself to be, she could not fend off the multiple packs on her own. While she is contemplating about what she should do, she noticed dozens of eyes staring hungrily staring at her direction. Even they see her as their kin, one should be wise enough not to stand in a way of hungering howlpacks, werewolf or not. Even she could fend them off, she could not protect the child all the time. The moment she looks the other way will be the moment he becomes food.

'This is bad. The boy will not last the night. Unless …' She bites her own arm and let her blood soaks the child, claiming him as her own. 'I'm sorry. This is the only way I can think of that will let you stay alive.'

She let out a loud bellowing cry, louder than any alpha had ever done before. It signals the others that they are intruding her hunting ground. With enchantment of her magic, it is an ultimatum toward the others, '**leave now or face my wrath**'. The others from various howlpacks are not pleased but do nothing. She is infamous for her fierceness, and they would not risk a fight only for a small snack of a boy.

Seeing that the others back down, she shapeshifts back into her human form. Calling forth her power, she summons the accursed spirit of Ulvenweld to do her bidding.

"**I'm Arlinn Kord of Ulvenweld and I claim this child as my own!**" She shouts as she channels her power into her spilled blood that covers the boy body. "**O' wolf spirit hears my plea. Curse this boy and bind him to ME!**"

The spirit answers her plea and makes the boy a werewolf. The energy surged from the environment to the unconscious boy using her blood as a medium. His skin burns even hotter than when he has a fever, causing him to cry out in pain. His body is twitching uncontrollably as his aura changes. She could sense it getting stronger and stronger.

'You must endure, boy. Persevere, and stay alive. From now on, you are mine. We are a pack now, and I will not let you die.'

The ritual under the full silver moon lasted the whole night. Arlinn Kord stood vigilance over her claimed all the time. She knew that she had done the unthinkable. No child should have suffered the curse that she had. But she also knew that she, with her clear conscience, will do anything to keep him alive. He is her everything now. A child of her own. The thing she wants for a long time since the moment she knows she was cursed and become infertile. She vowed to protect this boy with her life and make him feels love as he could. She doesn't know how much the wolf spirit would hold the sway over him. She doesn't know how much he will hate her when he knows what she had done. All she knows is that she will be the best mother for the boy as she could be.

It would be a great challenge. Oh, she is sure of that. She is in her forties now, and she will continue to live for a few centuries more thanks to her curse. She has plenty of time to try.

…

Morning comes as soon as the night fled. It was a long night. Jon Snow found himself awaken in the dense wood. He is not in Winterfell anymore. He also feels … different. It feels like his pain had all been taken away. Oh, and he is hungry. Very, very hungry. The hunger is so strong, he swears he has never experienced anything at this magnitude before. It is almost all he can think about.

Looking around he found himself sleeping on a bed made of leaves and twigs, laid perfectly on a smooth lard flat log. At his side is a smoldering campfire as well as racks of dried small games that had been skin and ready to be cooked. He then heard footsteps, louder and louder, as if someone is walking toward him. He also caught a different smell of a wild animal getting stronger and stronger.

_By the old gods, what had happened to me last night?_

The only things he remembers was he was in pain and his stepmother, Catelyn Stark, was praying for his life? He almost couldn't believe it. His stepmother, the Lady of Winterfell, the woman who hates him since the moment she laid her eyes on him, was praying for him to get better.

_Is this a joke? Where am I? Did lord father finally decide to send me away? _

As the footstep and the smell are getting stronger and stronger, he hears a question directly asked at him.

"Oh. Finally awake I see. Little pup." The owner of the voice is female, he is sure of that. But why does he felt so satisfying when he hears her voice. So, he does the only thing he could do. He turns toward the woman, and gods, his heart is filled with joy by the sight of what he sees.

The woman is in her forties, and she smiled at him. It's not a forced smile either. It's a smile filled with longing and love. A smile that he only sees when a mother gives her child. A smile that he never receives before. She has a sharp face, raise cheekbone, big red lips, eyes of a predator, and a scar on her forehead. Her hair is black, the same color as him. Her muscle was ripped, showing that she was by no means a wallflower. By the gods of old, she is graceful as any highborn lady he ever saw. It makes his heart skip its beat. The joy he felts almost eclipse the hungering sensation that gnawed his thought, almost.

_Is this really happening?_ He asks himself. _Is this real? Am I dreaming?_

"Mother?" He asks her as he stares longingly into her eyes. His eyes gleamed purple with power.

…

Arlinn Kord is stunned at the boy question.

Oh, the boy is beautiful. Even before the transformation ritual, he has something wolfish about his looks. Moreover, his face has some feminine trait that could make many mistook him for a girl had his hair was longer, or his chest was bigger. In a few years, she sure that girls from every corner of Innistrad would brave any danger to come looking for his company.

And he asked if she is his mother. It makes her heart dropped. The boy thought she was his mother. Sure, there are features between the boy and her that are close enough for them to relate. But how does a boy at the age of eight doesn't know what his mother looks like? What kind of terrible parents this boy has before she found him last night?

So many questions. So little time.

Even more disturbingly, her blood freeze when he stares right into her glowing brown eyes. Arlinn finally realizes how messed up the situation she and the boy are currently in.

The boy's eyes are glowing purple. He is also a planeswalker. In fact, the youngest she ever found.

**Well. Shit. She is going to need a lot of assistance in raising this pup.**

…

**Custom Card of the Chapter**

**Card Name: **Jon Snow, Bastard Pup

**Mana Cost: **RG

**Types: **Legendary Creature – **Human **

**Card Text: **

When Jon Snow, Bastard Pup enter the battlefield, you may search your library for a Wolf card, reveal it, then shuffle your library and put that card on top of it.

Whenever another a nontoken Wolf enter the battlefield under your control, create a 2/2 green Wolf creature token.

**Flavor Text:** "_Are you my mother?_"

**P/T: **0/1.

**Rarity: **Rare


	2. Chapter 2 The Mother

**Chapter 2: The Mother**

…

**Q/A**

**Ragnarshadow: **The use of planswalking can damage the planeswalker? You said because they need rest or something?

Lore wise, it didn't concretely state how much it damages planeswalker. WotC decided to intentionally keep it vague. A rule of thumb is that planeswalking requires focus, the more focus the more accurate your destination be. Thus, the first planeswalk will lead you to a random location, given that most planeswalkers has no knowledge of the multiverse before they become one.

I took some liberty to translate this into repeat use in short time frame can cause damage to the planeswalker. There must be a reason for planeswalkers fight with their signature brand of magic, instead of teleport all over the place like in Dragonball.

**Pnguyen18: **Yes dude yes, is his dragon father Bolas? Please let him be Bolas that will let Jon fuck everybody up in Westeros.

I intend to explore more about the emotions and reaction to changes the people of Westeros didn't fully understand, more than a power fantasy though. So, Bolas is unlikely. Perhaps an Extra-chapter about what-if scenario. Let's face it, Westeros and Essos are too insignificant for Bolas anyway.

**Konda020946:** This has potential. Is this pre or post eldritch moon or pre-post war of the spark.

First of all, thank you.

This will be pre-Eldritch moon by a long while. I plan to have Jon growing up and experience life as a planeswalker. Hence, Avacyn is yet to be liberated from the Hellvault.

If the timeline does not match, I blame Sarkhan messing up time on Takir. 😊

I plan to do both War of the Spark and the Battle of Winterfell. I believe it allows me to show a great contrast of the power scales, without going a full power fantasy route.

The way I see it, Long Night is just normal cold days on Innistrad.

…

**Previously**

"Mother?" He asks her as he stares longing into her eyes. His eyes gleamed purple with power.

**Well. Shit. She is going to need a long of assistance in raising this pup.**

…

"Mother? Is that you? Am I dreaming?" asked Jon Snow. He stands up and tried to walk toward her but suddenly found himself unable to walk properly. The precise control of his limbs is suddenly become so hard, as his arms and legs start flailing around without any pattern, making him fall flat. Lucky for him, his 'Mother' is there to stop him from breaking his face.

"Easy now child. Easy." She said as she hugged him. "You are not yet used to your new strength."

_Strength? What is she talking about?_ Jon thought to himself."I …." He wants to ask her everything, but he is interrupted.

"Are you hungry? Little pup?" Asked his '_Mother_'. "I hope you wouldn't mind some rabbit and pheasant. Or do you like me to make you a stew? You need to wait a little bit though."

Jon looks at the meat she brought, and his mind goes blank. He reaches for the meat as best he can, which is a hilarious sight to behold by itself and tries to devour it as if he was a starved beast in the presence of food. His arms are not that functional as he would like it to be, so instead of snatching the meat out of his '_Mother_' hand, he fumbles around like a paraplegic octopus under an epileptic seizure. It takes him about 5 minutes before he can finally get the meat into his mouth.

"Slow down, little pup. You don't want to choke, do you?"

"HUMMPH MHHPMH …" He tries to talk with his mouth full. An action that earns a chuckle from the older woman. "…. Hrrrrrk" And what do you know? He chokes almost instantly.

Lucky for him, she knows how to do a Heimlich maneuver. She moves fast too. Sooner than Jon realized, his '_Mother_' somehow embraces him from behind. She holds her hands and places just below his ribcage, and yanks inward so hard it forces all the air from his lung out and the clocked meat with it. She does it again, and again, and again, just to make sure that he is fine.

"**Eat. Slowly.**" She said once again. This time slower and more demanding. "Then we talk, okay?"

_Great, the first moment I meet mother, I mess up so hard she scolds me. _Thought Jon. He feels weird just to fight the urge to do something so savage. He notices that his self-control is almost non-existent, and he feels bad about it. Hopefully, his 'Mother' will explain everything.

…

_That's it. The ritual last night was a bad idea. Perhaps this is why there is no werewolf child._ Thought the older planeswalker. _It's amusing none the less._

In front of her, the boy tries hard to keep control of himself and fails miserably. The failure is so adorable, she needs all the strength she had to stop her from hugging him and rubbing her face over his.

To her surprise, the boy devoured 5 rabbits and 3 pheasants, which is an impressive feat considering his size. _Wolf spirt react differently to him. I should be careful._

"Getting full yet boy?" She asks as the boy in front of her starts licking his fingers. "Of course, you are."

…

"So. What's your name?" asked Jon. This is a bizarre experience for him. Finally, he found his mother and he is spending time with her. Yet, he doesn't even know her name. _What kind of son am I?_ He internally sighs.

"My name is Arlinn Kord. What's yours?" is her reply.

Strange, he has never heard of house Kord before. She has a northerner looks, yet he feels that something is not quite right. Worsening yet, how does she doesn't know his name. Does his lord father take him away and cut all contact with her? That's unlikely. Even though his lord father refuses to even talk about her, he could always see that lord Stark loves his mother, maybe even more so than he loves lady Catelyn.

_Then why does she doesn't know my name? Is she the one who wants nothing to do with me in the first place? Then why does she save my life and look at me with loving eyes? Nothing makes sense._

As his thought is in a turmoil, Jon disappointingly answers "Jon. Jon Snow."

"Snow?" She curiously repeats.

"Yes. Snow. All bastard of the north is named Snow, mother." Jon is confused. _How could she don't know this?_

"North is quite a relative term for the likes of us, little pup. Anyway, I'm not your mother."

"….." Jon wants to scream but nothing come out. His wistful eyes dimmed instantly. His heart stops as his blood run cold. "Oh." Oh, indeed. Having a perceive reality collapse right in front of him is too much for an eight years old child to bear.

"I am so sorry, Lady Kord. I mistake you for someone else." Said Jon, as his eyes water and his voice shaken. The change from his cheerful demeanor just a moment ago is clear as day. "I need to return to Winterfell. Lord Stark must be worried."

…

_That's it._ Arlinn finally confirms that she has no idea about how to comfort a child. All her studies under the church at Avabuck was bullshit. Church of Avacyn encourages its follower to tell the truth to stay off Innistrad's darkness. This is not the church's first lie she realized, and she is sure it would not be the last.

_Then why does the pup is so devastated by the truth? And why does it bother me so much that he does?_

"Jon." She calls his name. "Calm down and listen to me. Please." She sits on the stone bed Jon used to lie on and pats the space beside her, beckoned the boy to sit beside her.

"Milady, I …."

"**SIT!**" She demanded like an angry mother. The boy obeys the order as best he could, considering his limbs still not fully functional. Whether it is because he still sees her as his mother or because she is the alpha of their pack, she doesn't know.

She could only hope it is the former.

"Jon." She calls his name again. She moves her hand and places it on his shoulder. "There is something you need to understand."

The boy looks at her with a blank stare and says nothing.

"Do you know where this place is?"

…

Jon Snow is at loss. The question that Arlinn had asked him is … strange. Why does she ask him about where he is? Is she also lost?

"Some woods near Winterfell? Wolfswood perhaps." He answers. Not sure whether it is correct or not since he only heard about the stories or see it written in books. He is still deemed too young to tag along with the hunting party.

She laughs at his answer. It is not a sarcastic laugh either, it is very genuine. Something that lady Catelyn never did before. "By Avacyn's grace, no. You are no longer in Winterfell anymore, Jon. This place …" She pauses and picks up a stick to write something on the dirt. "This forest is called Ulvenwald. A great ancient forest of Innistrad."

Jon gives out a confusing look. "I'm sorry milady. I have never heard of either Ulvenwald or Innistrad, before. Pray tell, milady, wherein Westeros is this place exactly?"

He feels that she squeezes his shoulder even tighter. It feels … nice? "Little pup. I'm afraid you are not in Westeros anymore." She said. "I know it would be hard for you to believe, but please listen to my explanation."

She turns him toward her. His now purple gleamed eyes now met with her browns. "You and I, we belong to a special group of beings called planeswalkers."

"Planeswalker?"

"Yes. Jon. Planeswalker. But to understand about being a planeswalker, one must understand to concept of the multiverse …."

She starts to explain it all to him while using the stick to draw figures on the ground. Well, maybe not all of it, for she doesn't know the whole truth herself. But, at least, she teaches him all she understood about the multiverse.

…

Time passed. Seconds turn to minutes and minutes turn to hours.

"…. Each plane is different, Jon. Here, the dead do not rest, and dangers lurk everywhere. Ravnica is just one large city that covers the entire plane. On Theros, Gods are real, and their action dictates the life of its people. Tarkir is a land of a constant war…"

Arlinn story goes on and on. Meanwhile, Jon carefully listens to her every word.

…

"… I myself don't know much about other planeswalkers. The Lord of Innistrad, Sorin Markov, is one. However, I would prefer you to stay away from him as much as possible. There is one on Takir but he is a mad man. I once met one who claims she hails from Kamigawa, but I have never been to that plane. There is also a boy who is a bit older than you, traveling with his dog …"

The story is mesmerizing, Jon must admit. It also seems so farfetched, but he wants to believe it's true. Arlinn tells him even more stories that take even more time. Soon, he finds himself listening to her until sundown.

…

"…. And that's all I understand about being a planeswalker. It's not much, I have to admit. Your harsh fever must have triggered your spark to ignite and sent you here. I'm glad that I found you when I have. Innistrad is no safe place for a child, a planeswalker or no." She reaches for his hair and playfully scratches his head.

"Any question so far, Jon?"

After all that he still fascinated by her stories and couldn't believe how amazing it is. He wants to know more, to learn more. But there is one question he wants to ask more than any others. The question he wants to ask since he no she was not his mother.

"Why are you so nice to me, Lady Kord?" he asked. The question must be good in some way because it earns Arlinn's chuckles.

"Oh, poor Jon. Why would anyone want to be mean to an adorable pup like you, hmm?" Answered Arlinn while she gently strokes his hair.

"Many would, milady. Lady Stark wants to send me away, even my lord father constantly disagrees. I think she hates me for what I am." He looks downed. Every time he thinks about how he is a bastard, and how everyone treats him, it makes him feels sad.

Things went silent. The patting that Lady Arlinn gave his head also stopped. He looks up and finds that her face has frowned.

_Damn it, Jon. Why do you need to bring that up? Now Lady Arlinn going to hate you for being born out of wedlock too._ He internally screamed.

"She hates you for what you are. Why?" Arlinn innocently asked. It makes Jon even more confused.

"I am a bastard, milady. I was born out of wedlock. The septa told me that I'm a product of sin and a stain on my father's family." He hates to admit it. Hate it. Hate it. Hate it.

"None sense." Arlinn interrupted. "If they hate you for the reason out of your control, then they are fools. You should better not listen to fools, hmm?"

She stands up and kneels in front of him. Her hands hold his.

"You have never known your mother, do you?" She asked. Jon replies with a nod.

"Do you want one now?"

…

Seeing that Jon is stunned just make her day, even that entire day was spent telling him stories about her adventure throughout the multiverse.

_Well, Arlinn. Remembers what they say. Your reckless mouth going to be the end of you._

Before Jon could reply, she continues.

"Due to my bound to the wolf spirit, I cannot have a child of my own. We may not be related by blood, but you are now of my pack. I am willing to be your mother … if you would have me, little Snow."

As if the forest knows, everything goes silent. No winds. No birds chirping. No leaves fall. Nothing. It is so silent that Arlinn's enchanted hearing could hear two heartbeats, hers and little Jon Snow in front of her. Jon also hears it, of course, but his reaction is much worse. Granted, this experience is new to him.

She can see tears leaking from his eyes. His breathing becomes erratic. His amethyst eyes shine even brighter. She also notices the change in the beating pattern of his heart.

_Great job, Arlinn. Now you have done it. You have broken the boy. _A thought crawled her mind.

She sees Jon in tears as he tries to wipe it off, only to make it flows even stronger. He lifts his head and looks straight at her. He tries to speak but no words come out.

Silent falls again, and this time the tension couldn't be higher.

Her heart drops when she sees Jon standing up, or at least tries to stand up. His legs are shaken, and he is struggling to find his balance. _Oh. Poor boy._

"Mother!" Jon cries. He rushes in and hugs her waists. His action stops her from thinking anything further. She pats him on the head and strokes his hair.

She is glad, of course, but she doesn't know why. Perhaps she always wants a child of her own since she fully flowered. Perhaps the fact that she could never have children drive her to love a child without a mother. Perhaps it is because she would know how Jon life will be as she is a planeswalker herself. Or perhaps the binding of the wolf spirit she invoked last night is stronger than she expected.

The only things that Arlinn Kord knows at the moment are that she could raise this child as her own, she will teach him all she knows and much more. She will call in all the favor from other planeswalkers to make sure he is ready to face all the horror of the multiverse. For whatever reasons she love him, genuine or not, it doesn't matter.

It also doesn't matter that she had no idea how to interact with children. All the time that she spent with the church of Avacyn, apart from the basic education, was to prepare her to become an archmage of Goldnight. She is sure that channeling rays of holy light to smite devils are not an integral part of raising a child.

"My little adorable puppy."

…

The hug lasts longer than it should, but he doesn't care. He is no longer just Nedd Stark's bastard. He now has a mother. Not just a mother that his lord father refuses to mention, not just a mother of his other siblings that hate him, He now has a mother that loves him. Blood-related or not, she is his mother. Even more than that, he knows that she is the best one he will ever get.

"Now. Now." His mother taps at the back of his head. "The sun about to go down. Are you hungry, little wolf?"

Oh yes, he is hungry. It is strange though; he doesn't do much but listen to Arlinn's story after he swallowed an equivalent of a small feast by himself. It gnaws at him for the entire day. To answer his mother, he nodded.

"Of course, you are. But before that, I need to tell you something else." Arlinn places her hands on his shoulders. "When you arrive here, you are in great danger. Many predators hunt this forest: Beasts, Horrors, and much more. In order to keep you safe, I bind the wolf spirit to you. I'm sorry Jon, but I have no other way to keep you alive."

Jon listens to his mother and nods along the way. He doesn't know what's a big deal about the wolf spirit is, or why does his mother doesn't want to do it to him. Anyway, he knows that his mother is worried about him, so he needs to cheer her up.

"It is fine, mother. The wolf is a symbol of House Stark anyway. This just means that I'm more wolf than any of them. I am happy with that." Jon smiles. He sees that Arlinn frown is lessened but not by much.

"Jon." Said his mother. "The wolf spirit is not a thing to be toyed with. Many who did had lost their mind and become nothing more than a rabid beast. But I had overcome its challenge and promise that I will see to it that you do as well."

She hugs him and pulls him close before she continues. "The spirit hungers and it will not be easy to satiate. However, it also grants us a boon. We are stronger, faster, more perceptive, and do not tire easily. More importantly, we can call upon its power to transform."

Jon's eyes sparkle when he heard about what he could do. "Trans … form?" He repeats.

"Yes, Jon. Transform. It will grant us even more power than what we had now. But it will be very taxing of your mind and I prefer that you are older when you tried it. The transformation can only be done on Innistrad, which is good for the likes of us. So, until you can master the wolf spirit, promise me that you will not do anything reckless."

Jon happily nods, which earns his mother smile. "Yes, mother."

"Good child." She pats his head. "To transform is not only to embrace your wolf spirit but to fully merge with it. I will show you." She pauses to observe his reaction. The eight years old Jon is more than excited. "I warn you; you might not want to see me turn into half-wolf-half-woman, but you need to see nonetheless."

…

_Alright, Arlinn. The last challenge of the day. If he can make peace with you and him being a lycanthrope, then you will finally have a family. O' Avacyn, please make it true._

To Jon surprise, she starts stripping her clothes off save for her leather pauldron. Well, she likes her clothes and would like to see it intact after the transformations. This, however, caused Jon to be nervous. A reaction that she seems to miss entirely.

By the way, her naked body is in tip-top shape for a woman her age. A well-defined muscle as if it was sculpted by a fine artisan, and, by the texture alone, she looks barely older than nine-and-ten. Quite an accomplishment for a forty-years-or-so woman. Of course, she had her wolf spirit to thanks for that.

She gives her final prayer to the great angel before awakening wolf-blood within her veins. Her eyes turned bright orange, a status of an apex predator of Ulvenwald. Her muscle expands, making her almost twice her original size. Her hairs become thick charcoal grey coat which gets darker toward the ridge. Her face turns into that of a wolf, yet it retains its beautiful feminine allure. She also gains white long tails.

Fully transformed, she focuses her vision on her 'son' and finds that he is stunned by her looks. He looks happy, but also nervous at the same time. She has no idea why. Sure, Jon reacts to the on the notion of the wolf spirits much better than she thought, but where does the nervousness come from?

If only she knows that the action of stripping right in front an eight-name-day-old boy of her own will give him mental scars for the rest of his life. Something could not be un-see.

In her wolf-form, she gestures him to wait for her in the den. Jon takes the clue well enough to stay still in the bed. Seeing that her 'child' is safe, she starts her hunt of the night. She must be quick, for Jon is hungry, and so does her.

Arlinn ran for about a mile before she caught a scent of prey. Deer, she realizes. No. Two deer. That is good enough. She will teach him how to hunt tomorrow.

…

Custom Card of the Chapter

**Card Name:** Arlinn, Overprotective Mother

**Manacost:** 3G

**Types:** Legendary Creature – **Human Warrior Werewolf**

**Card Text:**

Flash, Vigilance

When Arlinn, Overprotective Mother enters the battlefield, all damage that would be dealt to creature name Jon Snow, Bastard Pup you control is dealt to Arlinn, Overprotective Mother instead.

When creature name Jon Snow, Bastard Pup you control dies, transform Arlinn, Overprotective Mother.

**Flavor Text:** "I only know Jon for a few moons but if anything were to happen to him, I am going to kill everyone in this room."

**P/T:** 4/5

**Rarity:** Mythic Rare

**Card Name:** Arlinn, Vengeful Mother

**Types:** Legendary Creature – **Werewolf**

**Card Text:**

Trample, Menace, Intimidate, Double Strike

R, Arlinn, Vengeful Matriach gets +1/+0 until the end of turn.

At the beginning of your end step, if you control creature name Jon Snow, Bastard Pup, transform Arlinn, Vengeful Mother.

**Flavor Text:** "_REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE_!"

**P/T**: 6/5

**Rarity:** Mythic Rare


	3. Chapter 3 The Stranger

**Chapter 3: The Stranger**

…

**Reviews**

** :** Nice.

Thanks.

**Ragnarshadow:** Werewolf can't have child or only Arlinn?

Innistrad Lycanthrope cannot have a child. It's something to do with the curse. The only way werewolves can increase their numbers is to call out the victim into the woods, have the wild essence of the wolf spirit enter the body, transforming them into werewolves.

Also, **ragnarshadow:** Bolas like the father I can imagine. Westeros in war and Bolas teaching Jon "these idiots fighting for iron chair, they do not understand about power. Do not become like this Jon."

I believe that any true dragon capable of conversation will tell you the same, not just Bolas.

**Konda020946:** pffft cold day on Innistrad, Nice. I think I remember Arlinn learning control on a different plane where she was also able to transform. Might want to check that out.

Cold day on Innistrad, or just a normal night on Amonkhet. (Desert get really cold at night 😊)

Yes, Arlinn learning control on a different plane after her first planeswalk. She planeswalked while being a werewolf and when on a different plane, there is no influence from the Innistrad's moon. She had made peace with her wolf spirit, accepting that they were both her.

No, she cannot transform outside Innistrad. The curse is linked to Innistrad's silver moon. She can still planeswalks away, but she will be stuck in whatever the form she is currently in.

**Guest:** *Wall of unrelated texts*

Cool! Good to know. But dear sir, are you lost?

…

**Previously**

"**Due to my bound to the wolf spirit, I cannot have a child of my own. We may not be related by blood, but you are now of my pack. I am willing to be your mother … if you would have me, little Snow."**

"**Mother!" Jon cries** **He rushes in and hugs her waists. His action stops her from thinking anything further. She pats him on the head and strokes his hair.**

…

It had been two months after Jon Snow finally has a mother. She had taught him how to hunt, how to fight, and how to be a werewolf. These are practical lessons that are more important than anything I Jon want to not only survive but to thrive as a planeswalker.

_The first rule of being a planeswalker is not to tell everyone about being a planeswalker._

For the past two months, Jon had never been happier in his life. He finally has a mother that loves him. Sure, her method of teaching was harsh, but she was also fair. She always went out of her way to make sure that all terrible punishment that she inflicted on him was for his own good and never once not remind him that how important Jon was to her. Before he had come here, his lord father just made him practice with wood swords. Two months had passed, and he had perfect the basic stance of using a spear, thanks to his mother guidance.

He also enjoyed the story about his mother life. Apparently, before she encounters her wolf spirit, she had been training in a church. First, he was amused to think that his mother was a septa until he learned that the church here controls almost everything. His mother was trained to be an archmage, a divine warrior of the church. It means that his mother has been trained to fight the horrors of Innistrad since she was young, and after she had received the blessing of the wolf spirit, she had been always fighting ever since.

Jon is proud that his mother is everything the Starks aspired to be. Even they keep calling him a bastard, a Snow, for the rest of his life, he will be more Starks than all of those from his generation combine.

"Remember, Jon. Many don't see the wolf spirit as a blessing as we do, they will try to hurt us if they even suspect our true nature." Spoke Arlinn, as she and her son watch a Gavony village that border Ulvenwald. "To thrive, not only we need to master the life inside the forest, but we must also be able to blend in with the populations. It will be harder to control the hunger in the presence of easy prey, but if you outed yourself too early, they will be hunting you until either you die, or they do."

That is the duality of their curses. The only difference between predator and prey is their situations. Such are the woes of Innistrad's curse. Those that could master this game that they play would be a perfect lair and thrives in this accursed plane.

"So. Tell me, my dear Jon. What is the best way to blend in with strangers that always suspect of outsiders?" Ask his mother. It is a question that makes Jon racks his brain finding an answer. He thinks and thinks and thinks but seems to not find the perfect answer.

Arlinn is patient, of course, like any good mother should. She wants to tell him what she believed right away but decides to wait for his answer. The best action to make him learn is to have him thinks for himself, not just follow everything she says. Her life still surprises her at every chance it can, even when she had ascended as a planeswalker for more than two decades. There are always many things to learn.

"We lie?" Answered Jon. He wants to make his mother proud, but he is unsure. There are many arguments to be had for lying as the first option. How well can you lie? How much effort do you need to put to those lie? What if they are skeptic about your story? What will you do afterward?

"Elaborate." Arlinn continues. She almost couldn't hide her smile. Her pup is finally thinking for himself.

"Yes, mother." Jon nods. "If we tell them the truth, they will definitely kill us, or tell someone that will come to kill us. So, we lie. We make sure that they believe what we want them to believe." Answered Jon. His voice is filled with nervousness when he explains why he will choose to lie as the first choice.

"Is that comfortable I sense, Jon?" Asked Arlinn. She seems disappointed but Jon doesn't understand why.

…

Arlinn intended to beat the nativity out of her son as soon as possible. If he still keeps his old ideals he was raised with, he would not last a single day alone here. Lying is a necessary skill that he needs to master as soon as possible. Planeswalkers like them are no longer all-powerful, yet many covet their ability. It would be just a matter of time before one come looking for him to experiment on or tried to steal his spark by force. Worse yet, if others planeswalker such as **The-horned-one-who-shall-not-be-name** might do **the-thing-that-should-not-be-mentioned** for **the-war-that-would-spell-disaster-for-them-all**.

"Your head is going in the right direction Jon. You still think lying is bad?" She asked. She stares at him with predator-like eyes as if she is staring into his soul.

"Lord Stark told me that it is not honorable to do so. Thieves and traitors lie, good men don't, he told me." Answered her son. Arlinn suddenly felt the urge to bash the boy's father head for putting that's stupid idea into his head.

"So, you think it better to die telling the truth than lie to save the lives of you and those you loved?" She retorted. "I'm not telling you to lie about everything all the time, Jon. I want you to do so when its matter of life and death. You don't want your loved one to get hurt, do you?"

She clearly sees that Jon startles as she mentioned that his loved ones could get hurt. _He is really a good pup. In a few years, he will grow to be a fine wolf._

"Be that as it may. So. You choose to lie. Do you know what the best kind of lie is?" Arlinn asked again, she doesn't want to tell Jon what's right or wrong. She wants him to think, hard, and grow that brain of his. _The best weapon any wolf has is its brain, after all_.

"No, mother. I don't even know there are many types of lie." He solemnly answered.

"Good. The way I see it. The best way to lie is telling the truth." Said Arlinn. She takes delight in Jon's confused face. _Oh, I waited so long for this. His face is adorable._

"Now. To tell the truth, you must know all the truth. What does the other side believe? What are the things that they doubt? Who do they see as enemies? Who do they see as allies? What can you twist to make them believe you? Do you understand, my little wolf?"

Jon nods in agreement again. She pats his back as she believes he understands what she said. It remains to be seen though, but that what the test she prepared is for. Her grin is so wide, even though she didn't realize it.

"Good. Now, my little pup. I will show you how it's done. So, watch and learn. By the end of the month, you will be tested." She held his hand as they walk toward the village via the dirt road. "I will show you how to make them believe your lie. The village blacksmith has a daughter your age and she is quite pretty. Your ultimate test will be getting her to kiss you willingly before we leave for Stensia."

The last sentence makes Jon blushes so red some might think his face is bleeding. The boy looks at his mother only to see her looking back at him with a grin. "We are wolves, Jon. And wolves must hunt. Usually for meat, but some alternative is acceptable. The management of your hunger is good enough. So, let's see how the charming face of yours do wonder." She laughs as she makes him blushes even more crimson. "Remember, Jon. Only kissing, no touching. You are a little too young for that."

As a cherry on top, she lets out a bellowing laugh.

…

Jon's mouth remains shut due to sheer embarrassment. He doesn't argue. He doesn't even retort. They walked silently toward the village.

_Damn it, Jon._ _Say something._ He internally screamed.

"What if I fail?" He thoughtlessly asked.

_Maybe not that!_

His mother stops in her track when she hears it. She looks at him strangely and pokes his forehead. "Oh, Jon. You are handsome and gentle. You won't fail."

"But if …" Once again Jon thoughtlessly replied.

"**YOU. WILL. NOT.**"

…

**Meanwhile in Winterfell.**

Two months. It had been two months after Jon disappear right in from of his eyes. Eddard "Ned" Stark was tired. Very. Tired. He wasn't sleeping well. How could he? Jon didn't die, he just disappeared. One moment he was sick with fever, his wife even prayed for him, then he just … gone. Where? he doesn't know. Why? he also doesn't know. Nothing makes sense.

It also didn't help that Catelyn screamed "**WITCHCRAFT**" for ten days straight when they talked about it alone. She also makes sure that everyone knew Jon was dead, eagerly so in fact. She forced his hand to tell lies. He knew Jon is still alive. How can a sick boy disappear like that unless its ….

**MAGIC.**

Ned broods in his solar, as he always does in his free time for the past two months. He asked maester Luwin to bring all the book about magic from Winterfell library to his solar after the fake burial rite. At least his wife didn't interrupt him for putting "Jon's body" inside his family crypt. Tales, legends, records, rumors, he read it all. Yet, nothing he read could describe how Jon had disappeared. He hopes there is something hidden in that pile of texts that could help him. Something. Anything. Else, he wouldn't know how he could face his dear dead sister. She screamed at him in his dreams ever since.

There is a knock on the door. Ned doesn't even have to guess who that was.

"Come in." He answered.

The door creaks open and in walks Catelyn Stark, the Lady of Winterfell, his wife. Their relationship had been strained since Jon disappeared. How couldn't it be, she hated the boy since the first moment she laid her eyes on him. Cursed her faith of the seven, condemning a bastard to nothing more than a demon spawn. She always took any chance to mentally torturing Jon, little comments here, harsh stare there, she even reprimands her own children, no, "**their children**", when they interact with Jon. He wanted to yell the truth at her face to make her stop, but his honor forbids it.

It's the price he had to pay for keeping his promise.

"Ned." She called his name. "It has been two months. You need to move on."

"No." His answer is short. How could he? His sister left her only son in his care and he lost him. No. He will never stop until Jon is found, either alive or dead. He prayed to the gods of old that it would be the former. "No. Milady. I will not." He didn't bother to look at his wife's face when he said it. He grows tired of her constant reminder that Jon is a bastard. Worse yet, her unfair treatment of his nephew and the true heir of the iron throne.

"**WHY?**" She yelled. "Why do you so fixate with that bastard! You brought him back from the war. You brought him to Winterfell. You refused to send him away, even when I already gave you four children. Now, that bastard is gone and yet you still thinking about him. What about us, milord? What about Rob, Sansa, Arya, and Bran? You are ignoring them, your own lawful child for a son of a whore."

"**ENOUGH!**" Ned screams in rage. "Not another word, milady. I will not tolerate you to further dishonor Jon's mother. Jon is as a Stark as any of your children. I will not stand for any other different treatment for him. You may be the Lady of Winterfell, Cat. But I'm its lord and the Warden of the North. My word is law and you will abide by it, willing or not."

Catelyn stumbled back at the word. They had been married for almost a decade and not even once had he raised his voice against her, except now. Her eyes start to water as she looks straight into his. Her face tells it all. She couldn't believe what she just heard. Eddard Stark, her lord husband, has done the unthinkable. He elevates the bastard to have the same status as her children. This is wrong. Everything is wrong. All the sept teaching had dictated it so.

"And what about MY HONOR, milord? You sire a bastard right after our marriage. Have you not thought about me at all? I gave you four children, **FOUR CHILDREN**, and yet all you can think of is that bastard and its mother." She berated before stomps out of Ned's solar. She slams the door as hard as she can, the non-ladylike be damned, she wants everyone to know. And oh, everyone will know. She has a raven to send to Riverrun.

…

It had been almost a month after they first came to this village. The blacksmith daughter, Henrietta, was a lovely girl. Jon had to admit he enjoyed her company. He was amazed at how fast the people here bought his mother's story of being in a nearby village that had been wipe out by werewolves. She had run him over about their cover story before: She was a member of the Church of Avacyn's archmagi, who commit a mistake by having him during the mission and was forced to quit, they were sent to hunt all the monstrosities and expected to die doing it as a punishment and atonement for her sins, the village that they intended to stay in was attacked and destroy before they arrive, so they intend to stay here for a while before moving on to Stensia to deal with its vampire problem.

Just as his mother taught him, most of the story is the truth, but not the full truth. Yes, she was an archmagi. Yes, she was forced to quit, technically anyway. Yes, they are on a hunting mission. Yes, the nearby village was wiped out by werewolves. And yes, they intend to stay here temporarily before moving on to Stensia. The rest? Well, it's a story that people want to believe in.

Jon, on the other hand, had quite a challenge trying to woo a girl. The cover story that he had to act out was easy enough, but to gain the trust of the village blacksmith is something of another level entirely. It took him much effort to show that he was just a nice boy who wants to play with other children his own age, while his wolf spirit screamed at him to rip her throat out. Apart from that, he enjoys having a friend, something that he didn't have a chance when he was the Bastard of Winterfell.

Two of them now sit together near the riverbank just outside the village. Other older villagers walk pass by from time to time and wave at them, commenting about how adorable they are as a couple, jokingly of course. Sure, things are grim on Innistrad and the life expectancy of its people is even shorter than Westeros, but eight years old is still regarded as too young for a romance. Still, the comments made them blushed, especially in Henrietta case. Her cheek turned red, and it made Jon want to eat her face. _**By biting it off with his growing fangs of course. **_Lucky for both Henrietta and Jon, his self-control and good nature won out.

"So, you are moving away, Jon?" Asked the girl. "I wish I could go with you. You know. Traveling the world, seeing more people, maybe I can be an archmage like your mother." Said the girl as she is kicking her legs while sitting on a log. Their shoulder touch and she doesn't mind.

"Perhaps. But your father will kill me before that will happen, I think." He joked. Jon knows how much the blacksmith loves his little daughter. It makes her laughs. "I hope I can come here after my mother is pardoned for her mistake and become an archmage again. I might be an archmage myself so I can protect you."

The girl giggles as she twitches away playfully. She doesn't look so happy as usual though. They both know this is the last chance they will probably ever meet. Their reasons are different, but Jon know he doesn't need to tell her that. He just needs to complete the test his mother gave him. He feels it is easier compared to when he started, as he develops feelings for her as well. It might not be love, but it's a good feeling, nonetheless.

"Before I left …" said Jon. He turns to her and looks into her eyes. There is no mind control here, just his charisma. "May I ask you one last favor?"

"Aha." His target didn't hesitate for a second. She nods and gives him the same treatment.

"I don't want you to forget about me, Henrietta. And I don't want to forget about you, too. So …" He hesitates for a few seconds before he gathers enough courage to ask. "May I have a kiss so we can remember each other by?"

Jon feels like everything stops right after he finishes asking. As if on cue, the wind stops blowing. There are no sound, if there was, he doesn't hear it. It is so silent, Jon could hear two heartbeats, hers and his own. He stares at her as she stares at him, neither dare to do anything else.

Then his answer comes. Not by words, but by her soft and misty lips touching his own. He is taken aback but does not resist. Instead, he closes his eyes and feels it all. His enhance sense could pick up the blood that rushed to her lips and its soothing warmth that transmit to him.

_This is nice._ He reckons. _Mission successful. Mother would be proud of me._

Suddenly everything changes. He knows that something is wrong as the warmth of their kiss fades.

_Something is not right._ _Her lips feel …. Dry?_

Jon doesn't understand what happened. When he finally opens his eyes, he is met with horror. Henrietta changes. No longer she is a lively lovely girl that her sight alone could brighten his day. Oh no. She is now but a dried husk that died while kissing him.

Everything is so silent. Too silent, when Jon thinks about it. Something must have happened.

_Oh no. Mother!_

…

**Moments earlier**

Arlinn Kord is watching her son doing the task that she assigned him to do a month ago. Her super-hearing could pick up sweet words that he said to the blacksmith daughter. She keeps tap of his progress of course. When Jon tried to befriend the girl, at first, he was shy himself. Clearly, he had no clue on how to approach other people or stranger. She couldn't blame him considering the upbringing inside a castle as a son of a powerful lord but born out of wedlock that he told her. For the past month, she saw him improving. There were times that he stumbled to answer the question he didn't expect, but his improvisation is getting better and better. Sometimes it made her even thought that Jon believed in those lies himself. Its something she had to make sure and correct on.

And then, out of nowhere, a calamity came. Arlinn soon finds herself standing in a mist of a slaughter. However, it is not by a howlpack out for food or some spiteful spirit that haunted this area. One moment everything is fine, the villagers just go about their lives as normal, then everything turns mad. Everyone eyes go blank and stop doing things on their track. Then, horrors begin as blood is sucked out from everyone in the village, leaving them a dry husk. Dark powers are in play here and she knows who is responsible.

Her thought goes to Jon as she realized who has come for them. In a panic, she searches for him with her senses and is glad that he is alive and unharmed. She also sees that he had completed his test, but that matter needs to be put on hold. There is a change of plan.

"You are far from home, Arlinn of Avabuck. I tolerate you only because you are of Innistrad. I let you stay in Ulvenwald because you want to keep a balance. And yet you abaddon your post." Said the perpetrator. His voice echoes throughout the area even there are only two other souls to hear it. "And what is this? A young wolf pup who recently ignite its spark. You are not of here, youngling, yet you have the curse? Interesting."

A figure moves so fast her eyes can barely track. Seeing that it moves toward Jon, Arlinn cursed herself for her indecisiveness and rushes toward her son. She needs to get to Jon fast or he might not be alive long enough for her to explain to that person. She put all her power to enhance her legs and dashes at an incredible speed.

"JON!" She cries, seeing that he is confused and scared. Scared for both his life and hers. He is such a good boy that it makes her almost come to tear if not for the possibility of impending doom. Lucky for her, she reaches Jon before **HE** does. Or more accurately, **HE** let her reaches Jon before **HE** does.

As she hugs her son to calm him down, a man emerged out of a shadow. His wears an ornate armament, a silver armor with a giant piece of perfect ruby in the middle of his chest. He of skin so pale, eyes so black, and a dress cut down to Venezuela. An ancient vampire of an imaginable power. A foe that she could not win against.

"**I am Sorin Markov, Innistrad is mine. Heed me and obey, OR DIE**."

…

**Custom Card of the Chapter**

**Card Name**: Hidden in Plain Sight

**Manacost**: 1G

**Types:** Instant

**Card Text:** Transform all werewolves you control. Prevent all combat damage that would be dealt to humans this turn.

**Flavor Text:** "Werewolf? Where? Wolves? I have no idea what you are talking about."

**Rarity:** Common


	4. Chapter 4 The Warrior

**Chapter 4 The Warrior**

**Author notes**

I'm so excited that there was a huge spike of readers after I upload Chapter 3. More reviews are appreciated. Asking me questions is also fine too.

Does anyone want to comment about the custom card of the chapter? It's a joke, of course, but I also want to know how viable it is.

…

**Reviews**

**Hadrian. Caeser:** Dragon time!

Wait and see.

**Ragnarshadow:** You said the wolf spirit affect Jon differently, this make him different from another werewolf? What happen to the Greyjoy?

Answer to both: Wait and see.

…

**Previously**

"**May I have a kiss so we can remember each other by?"**

… _**Something is not right. Her lips feel … Dry?**_

… "**I'm Sorin Markov, Innistrand is mine. Heed me and obey, OR DIE."**

…

It is the moment that Innistrad stands still. Rarely does more than one planeswalker interact with each other, but there is currently three here in a confine of what used to be a village: An ancient vampire and a werewolf mother and her pup.

It was at this moment, Arlinn Kord knows they fucked up.

"Lord Sorin?" Thoughtlessly asked Jon. His mother had told him of how dangerous an encounter with the Lord of Innistrad could be. Yes, he is angry that the vampire killed Henrietta. But he also knows not to challenge one such powerful as Sorin. He is of their kind, a planeswalker, but not really. He is one of those that exist since before their kind had fallen from their grace. He lives for many millennia in the time they were all-powerful, where each of them can dominate the multiverse. At his prime, he could drain the life-essence of the entire plane, or if he wants to be even crueler, enslaved the mind of its denizens. Since the mending, every planeswalker lost most of their power, Sorin included. Still, there are many reasons no one wants to antagonize him.

Jon doesn't dare to disrespect the vampire lord, for he knows that Sorin could obliterate both of them with a thought. Yet, he also knows he couldn't show any weakness. Both of their kind are apex predators and will exploit it at the first opportunity. For the first time, Jon wishes he was older so he could not be intimidated so much.

"Lord Sorin?" Echoed Sorin Markov. He seems amused. How couldn't he? For so long since he claimed Innistrad, no one had addressed him as a Lord, even when they refer to him as such. "It seems the pup has some manners."

"Milord. Pardon for my intrusion, but we …." Jon reverts to what he was trained as a Bastard of Winterfell. Sure, his mother teaches him about growing a backbone and takes what he could claim as his. He also had insecurity beaten out of him. But foremost, Arlinn also teaches him how to survive as a planeswalker. Civility and intimidation could only be used with those who are weaker or about the same level as you.

Among planeswalkers, all that matter is one power. The strong dictates, the weak obey. But one must also remember that the weak can band together to overcome the strong. Jon clearly knows that just two of them are not enough to resist Sorin.

"Silence, Pup. You will speak only when spoken to." Interrupted Sorin. His glare is enough to make Jon's blood chills. He wants to retort but no air comes out of his lungs.

"Yes, milord." Jon replied. He is tensed but tries his best to remain vigilant.

"Arlinn Kord." Sorin turns to the older werewolf. "You owe me explanations." He is sizing her up, searching for any resistance. His hand is at the handle of his sword, ready to draw at the first moment he senses aggression.

"I need to explain nothing!" She growls. "Innistrad is my home, and I'm raising my son here. You will leave us alone, and we will not interfere with your so-called grand design." Her body starts to transform. Her arm lengthens, her hair grows. Her eyes turn bright yellow. The changes happen in a split second, proving how much of the mastery Arlinn had over her blessing.

"Fools. Innistrad is mine and mine alone. I merely allow you to stay." His eyes flashe as he bares his fangs at Arlinn. "Know your place!"

Before Jon could blink, both of them turn into a blur. An explosion of black and white occurs when they collide. The shockwave scatters everything in their area. Roofs are flying, walls from different buildings are thrown and mixed into one huge rubble. When the smoke clears, Jon sees that his mother is badly wounded while Sorin suffers much less so. Her arms bent backward in a horrible angle and she has a sword stuck in her belly. The vampire, on the other hand, gets a deep wound over his shoulder, but it's nothing he could not heal from, given time. It was a terrible trade for Arlinn, but that's an achievement in itself. Most would just lose their lives trying to achieve the same and failing to do so.

He looms over her and grabbing her by the throat. "Your bestial instinct overcome your reasons, Arlinn. If I use the parasite blade, you would already be dead." Sorin lamented. He binds her blood to his will, making her shifts back to her human form. "Still, such fierceness, reminding me of my own mother."

"I hate her." With his unleashes his magic to boil the blood inside her veins. "She was the least favorite member of the family, excluding those fools that Edgar sire anyway."

Seeing that his mother is being tortured, Jon yells "No!". He rushes over her body without regarding his own life. "Please, milord. Have mercy." He rushed toward his downed mother and kneels beside her. "I am willing to do anything you command, milord. Please."

Jon plea made his mother's eyes widened. She looks at him with disbelief as if she wonders what have happened to her boy. "Jon…." She calls his name, but it falls to deaf ears. "No…."

"Anything?" Asked Sorin. Once again, he is amused. This little pub holds no regards for neither his own life nor his honor. Arlinn must be very important to this pup that makes the him react like this. That or he just young, naïve and foolish. "I will humor you then. What's your name, pup?"

"Jon. Jon Snow, milord." He bows but keeps his head up, looking right at the vampire's eyes. Even in disadvantage, he remembers to show no fear against a powerful predator like this ancient vampire.

"Snow? What a peculiar name to have." Sorin commented. "Tell me, Jon Snow. What can you provide me that I cannot get myself? You are barely over eight. You are yet to learn how to planeswalk. You mother is yet to teach you how to control your bestial side. Pray tell, little Snow, how can you be of use to me?"

"Aye. Lord Sorin. I may be a boy. But I will not be a boy forever. I will grow and I will learn. I will become of use to you. With the blessing, I will live for centuries. That will be centuries that I can be of use to you. If and only if, you spare my mother life." Jon bravely answered.

"And if I decide otherwise?" Sorin askes again. This time his voice seems less furious. Instead, it seems like he is curious about Jon further answer.

"Then I die with her, and you will lose a chance to have allies by your side. You will lose someone that you can raise and mold to fit to do your bidding." Jon doesn't back down. He stands over his mother, separate her from her would-be attacker. His bright amethyst eyes flashes red with rage and fury. An attribute that commonly doesn't found in wolves.

Sorin seems impressed to say the least.

…

Arlinn is stupefied. She couldn't believe what Jon had said. Her son of a few months is willing to put his life on the line. He is willing to die with her. Not only that, but he also uses this fact to somehow threatened Sorin Markov and it seems to be working.

"Jon." She says his name again. She wants to say more but couldn't. The sword that still stuck inside her belly doesn't help the situation any better. Her supernatural regeneration has stopped the bleeding, but that doesn't mean it lessens the pain. "Don't." She intends to yell it out loud, but it only comes out as a whisper. The one that gets overlooked.

…

Sorin Markov is impressed. He originally wants to teach the werewolf a lesson and assert his dominance. Who would have thought that she would have a pup that she so fiercely protected? So fierce indeed she had lost all her reason, which makes his goal much easier to attain. Surprising yet, the pup decided to put himself on the line to save his mother. He even showed the trait that not commonly found among the wolf: bravery, rage, and fury. The boy didn't just plea for Arlinn life, he demanded either they both live or they both die.

For an eight years old pup, it was an impressive display. But Sorin knows there is more to that. The boy is a werewolf, he is sure of that. But he is also something more. Something so proud and so ambitious.

**LIKE A DRAGON.**

_This is getting interesting._ Thought the vampire. He lets out a bone-chilling laugh when he thinks about it. "Good. Good. I have lived for many millennia, but I have never met anyone as brave or as mad." He brushes past Jon to retrieve his sword from Alinn's body. "I have no intention to pick up another stray. The last one I trained under my wings betrayed me and she got lock up inside the Helvault."

He can see that Jon is tensed after he mentioned the Helvault.

_Good_. He thinks. _He fears it. Good._

Using sanguimancy to close Arlinn's wound, he wipes her blood from his spare blade. "Your words bind you, Jon Snow. For sparing you both, you will serve me unquestionably and do my bidding after you become a man." He unleashes a binding curse on Jon. The pact is made, and Jon will honor it. Failure to do so will turn him into an unintelligent thrall under Sorin control. Either way, he wins.

"I will allow you to stay until you have full control of your wolf spirit." Said Sorin. He then turns to the badly wounded mother. "When he can planeswalk, take him back to where he came from. It's not safe to raise a proper child on Innistrad. When he is older, you can take him to meet Ugin on Tarkir. Mention my name and show him my mark, that old dragon will help you. Now, begone!"

With that, Sorin Markov turns back and flies away. He has reaped beyond what he even expected.

_The boy will go far. _Thought Sorin. _Far for me._ He internally laughs.

…

**One week later**.

Jon brought his mother back to Ulvenwald. Their makeshift den is hastily made. It was not a proper den but it was good enough for his mother to rest and recuperate. He had taken to himself to hunt a small game, and on some occasion, a deer. Today is not any different. After making sure that his mother was comfortable inside their den, he went hunting again. Arlinn is healing at a steady pace. Only a few more days before she is strong enough for them to hunt together. After that, they will go to their main den in the forest and kick out anyone that tried to claim it as their own.

The hunting of small game has become a routine for Jon. He tracks down his prey. He lays the trap. And he makes sure that he always stays clear of other werewolves. Even he is of their kind, he is but a mere pup. He may be stronger than normal werewolves, but the others might not think so. He needs to avoid any possible fight, especially when his mother is wounded. Once the secret is out, many would come for them. Many of their kind is little more than a mere beast, and beast always acts on instincts: Hunger, Rage, … **Lust**. They didn't dare to make an advance on his mother before only because she is way too powerful, and there are many weaker willing bitches. Now? Even they know it will be a hard fight, Jon is sure there are many who are stupid enough to try. His wounded mother might be able to fight them off, but he might not.

All the while, Jon contemplates about what his mother had said after Sorin left.

"Jon. You fool. Sorin doesn't intend to kill me. He wants to teach me a lesson and asserts his dominance. Why do you have to give away your freedom like that?"

Oh, yes. Jon knows that he had fucked up. He had been outplayed. At least his mother understands, hugs and kisses his forehead while doing it.

"He already binds you to your vows with his curse. So, he will likely to prefer you are alive. I think you can trust his words. Be careful though, many on this plane hate Sorin. Do not let them know you are serving him."

She smiled at him even as she was in pain. At that moment, Jon felt proud. His mother seems to be proud of him, even when she said otherwise.

"You are a good pup, Jon. But there is still a wolf to be made out of you yet."

…

**Meanwhile in Winterfell**

Three months and a half have passed since the day her half-brother, Jon Snow, had "died". Sansa Stark still doesn't understand why her family still grieving, especially her lord father. She heard that her father had received a raven informing him that House Greyjoy had rebelled, right after they found out Jon had died. She had met her father once before he rode off to another war. His eyes were tired, and she felt a grim aura radiated from him, like the Stranger himself had come to take lives. She had to admit it was the first time she feared her own lord father.

When he came back, she found out that her father led the charge on Pike by himself, then challenged and killed Balon Greyjoy right in front of his throne. He then put Balon's youngest son Theon Greyjoy on it with a promise of even worse bloodshed should he tried to do the same. They said that he fought with a ferocity of a rabid beast when they duel. Krakenslayer, they had called him. They said he was so angered by Balon rebellion and their raid on Seagard, he vowed to paint Iron Islands red with blood to prevent anything like his from happening again.

She had never been prouder of being her father's daughter. He was indeed a hero like those in tales and songs. The one thing that she didn't understand was why did her mother doesn't feel the same.

Four-years-old Sansa dreams something special that night. She sees her bastard half-brother Jon, but he has changed, somehow. First, he is a full-grown man. Second, his eyes are bright purple instead of grey. Third, he is kissing a shorter woman with a fire-like auburn hair in a red dress under a weirwood tree. Or is it a taller tattooed woman wearing a green cloak with a strange ear? She seems to not remember that one. The dream is like those described in songs, but with her bastard half-brother in it so it couldn't be.

On the next morning when the family breaks their fast, Sansa tells her mother about her dream and it makes her lose her mind. Sansa doesn't understand what happens, but her father tells her it is okay. She does see him finally smile in months so it must be a good thing.

…

**Before anyone realize it, time flies.**

I had been **two years** since their encounter with Sorin Markov. Jon is now 10, or at least he thinks so. Time might not move differently here, and he had no way to make sure of it. The different calendar also makes it difficult to compare.

Jon lands on his butt. Hard. Apparently, Arlinn Kord is merciless when they are sparing. He remembered her words vividly.

_Are you a wolf or are you a whining bitch?_

They fight with spear, her most proficient weapon. Jon normally prefers a more defensive stance that his mother called _**an iron gate**_. He points the spear upward over his right shoulder and tilted the tip slightly forward in front of his left leg, which is the leading leg. This stance gives him plenty of options to react and counterattack with both ends of the spear. His mother, on the other hand, prefers a more aggressive stance with further-reaching called _**a boar tusk**_. She keeps her spear parallel to her eyes level and protruding it forward. With her stature, her spear has almost twice the reach of his. Jon is forced to defend against the barrage of attacks that even one mistake could spell death. He needs to improve fast if he wants to survive, such as the law of the multiverse.

Jon focuses on his mother's spear tip and waits for her to move. He doesn't wait long as Arlinn side steps to his left and pokes. He is perceptive enough to see the telegraph of that attack and parry it with plenty of time to spare, clearly, his mother is going easy on him. He resumes the original stance and waits again.

This routine repeats the entire morning, with his mother attacking him with a new angle faster and faster until his defense cannot keep up. Sometimes his mother intentionally slips up just to see whether he could take the advantage and counterattack.

They have been at it for hours before Jon start feeling tired, thanks to his blessed stamina. He sees his mother increase the gap between the two of them and tighten her grips. The clue is very subtle but his enhance sense can pick it up. He reacts by lunging himself forward and extend the butt of his spear out, waiting to intercept his mother defense. Arlinn reacts by twirling her spear to distract her son and thrusts it aiming for his heart. Jon sees this coming and moves his pole to intercept. He successfully parries then sidestep to her unguarded right side. He tucks back his spear and launches it at his mother thick thigh. The point strikes true and it left a shallow wound on its target. Jon feels proud that he finally lands a hit on his mother and enough wound her.

Then he passes out from being his at the back of his head when his mother spin-kick him while he is so cheerfully distracted.

…

Jon feels like his head is going to explode. He most recent memory is that of spear training with his mother. He remembers that he finally lands a hit on her. Then…. Then he found himself here, with a massive headache.

"Oh. You finally awake. Took you long enough." Said Arlinn, tending her wound on her left leg.

"Your wound! Are you alright, mother? I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to .." Jon panicked.

"It's okay. You are doing fine, Jon." Reassured his mother. "I think you're ready to learn magic."

"Magic!" Jon shouts. His eyes dilate so hard it almost inverted.

"Yes, you little pup. Magic. I didn't kick you too hard, didn't I?"

"What!" Jon screams as the pain somehow resurface again. "Ouch!"

"Nevermind." Smiled Arlinn. "I think you should also get in touch with your wolf spirit. **Tonight, we let the beast out!**"

…

**Custom Card of the Chapter**

**Card Name: **Merciless Ultimatum

**Manacost:** 1WWBB

**Types:** Legendary Sorcery

**Card Text:** Target opponent choose a planeswalker they control, exile it, then put top two cards of their library into their graveyard. You may exile target creature that player controls, then put two cards from your graveyard on top of your library in any order.

**Flavor text:** You kids get out of my plane!


	5. Chapter 5 The Crone

**Chapter 5 The Crone**

**Reviews**

…

**Xionsd: **sooooo now Jon is to become a slave…

"Slave" is a strong word. Sure, wolves can be tamed. But dragons do not serve, they rule.

…

**Previously**

"**You are a good pup, Jon. But there is a wolf to be made out of you yet."**

… "…**Tonight, we let the beast out!"**

…

Nightfall on Innistrad is nothing romantic. The sight of the sun sinking under the horizon signals every sane person to lock themselves inside a confine of their home. Sometime that still might not be enough for the danger that lurks in the shadow doesn't care about the boundary. The church preaches about having faith in Avacyn and her flights of angels. The local population might form a Cathar to protect themselves. But that would still not be enough. No one had seen Avacyn in ages and many think she is just a myth. Only a few know the truth, and fewer even alive to tell them.

Some might lose hope in Avacyn, as she continues to ignore their pleas. Some might lose hope when the church's ward has failed. Some might even lose their faith when they are visited by the inquisition and get accused of being a heretic and being burnt alive. Granted, they lose their life soon after, if not a moment before. One such inquisition is currently led by Cardinal Ximenez.

There is a delay in their travel. The road to the village is in ruined and the next nearest village had been slaughtered by a howlpack two months prior. The night almost comes when they just reach the village instead of the midday as the expected. They are losing light and cardinal Ximenez doesn't like it. They should spend time burning the heretic and torture the answer out of their accomplice instead of traveling. Bah. No matter. The holy work of Avacyn's inquisition is never over and Ximenez will make sure that his men will work even harder to make up for the lost time.

Cardinal Ximenez had brought 100 men with him to a distance village near the edge of Ulvenwald. Considering the size of the village that could hold at most 50 villagers, it might seem to be an overkill. In any other place that might be true, but not in Innistrad. Any men that think like that would either already dead or has yet to be born. Oh. The villagers are scared shitless as they should. They didn't expect the Avacyn's Inquisition. No one has.

_No one expects Avacyn's Inquisition, for their chief weapon is fear and surprise and ruthless efficiency … and their fanatical loyalty to Avacyn. Also, they have nice red uniforms._

_And by this point, my dear reader, you should also know that this is a Monty Phyton's reference. If not, then you should go watch it immediately. _

…

The village burns as its late inhabitants cry and curse the church. They are innocents with the only crime that is settled near Ulvenwald. They keep telling the men of the church that they are not werewolves nor know anyone that is one. The agents keep yelling at them for the name of a heretic. They don't ask, not in common sense. They just yell profanity and insults the captured villager while beating them.

"How do you plead?" Ximenez heard one of his minions asked. The victim is beaten and scared, good. Heretic deserved nothing less.

"Innocent!" He heard the answer and it brings a smile on his face. _Wrong answer!_ He thinks with glee. _These heretics are sure tight-lipped._

"Liar!" Yelled the torturer. He swings a mace and breaks one of the victim's legs. He then proceeds to beat the victim some more

"How do you fucking plead?" The torturer yelled again.

"Innocent!" Once again answered the victim.

_What is this inefficiency?_ Thought Cardinal Ximenez. Surely, his men are useless. They had been at it for hours and they are yet to get any confessions.

"What's going on here?" He asked the torturer. "Why did it take so long?"

The smiling torturer looks paled in an instant. He knows he has underperformed. "Your holiness, I …"

"Silence! You fool. Bring forth the rack!" Yelled Ximenez. He let out a menacing laugh. An action that echoes throughout the village by his minions.

*HOWL*

A bone-chilling cry of a wolf is deafening. Even for men as righteous as Ximenez and his retainers, the howl is terrifying enough to stop them in their tracks. Without them realized, their limbs start to shake as unease creeps at their spines.

*HOWL*It's getting louder and louder. *HOWL*

As if he was mad, cardinal Ximenez laughs. "Alright men. We found the heretics. Kill them all!"

As soon as he ends that sentence, his men slaughter their victim and ready for a fight. "Ready your silver weapons!" He yells. "Tonight, we kill these curs."

*HOWL* This time, the voices are close. Very close. Before anyone could react, a white blur crashes with the guards at the east of the village. One moment five spears were at ready to face whatever comes their way, the next moment they were already dead. Their corpses were mauled and ripped to shred.

*HOWL* Men on the west side panic as they found themselves outnumber five-to-one by a large pack of wolves. If this happened in other planes an equipped force of this size should not be panic, too bad they live on Innistrad. These are not just any wolves, they are Ulvenwald's wolves. They are twice as large and triple as ferocious of their normal kin. The inquisition men hold their spears high, trying to keep the distance between them and the danger as much as possible. However, this is Ulvenwald.

_In Innistrad's Ulvenwald, you don't go the face the threat, the threat comes for you._

Wolves lunge themselves at the spear walls without any regards of their lives. Some get impaled by a spear. The others see the opening and rush in and tear the spearmen apart. The line held for only a moment before it turns into a slaughter. Within minutes, the bodies of the fighter are no more, only a mush of wolf's feast.

With his men getting killed left and right, cardinal Ximenez recalls all his available minions back to protect him. They would have strength in numbers and would be able to protect each other. But that also means that they are trapped in the middle of the besieged village.

The men are restless. They, themselves, don't expect the full-scale attack from the beast of Ulvenwald. The wolves have surrounded them. They growl and seek out the weakness in their formation. Then, they see, with their own eyes, the Matriarch of Ulvenwald. A female werewolf with a fur ashen grey that getting darker as it gets toward the ridge and burning bright orange eyes. On her shoulder lies an ornate leather pauldron. Around her neck are necklaces made of wolf claws. She landed right in front of them as the wolves make their way. Just by her glances alone made them want to pray to Avacyn for salvation.

"Stay back! Beast! In the name of Avacyn …" Yelled the cardinal. With his fanatical bravery, he grabs his spear and ready to engage the werewolf in combat. Too bad for him, he doesn't aware of another werewolf above his head.

Another werewolf dropped down right on the cardinal head. This one is smaller but not any less dangerous. Its fur is pale white that getting redder toward the rides and its eyes glowing silvery grey. It jumps down and tackles the cardinal to the ground and claws his face. In seconds, the cardinal has turned into a mush of blood and gore. While the others are still terrified, the white werewolf lashes out on the nearby inquisitor. The werewolf dodges any spears that aim toward its body. What it cannot dodge, it parries with it claws and then proceeds to tear the attacker head off.

With the enemy on both front and rear, the inquisition line collapses soon after. The wolves of Ulvenwald feast well tonight, for there are no survivors to be hunted down.

…

Jon mind has never been full of rage, at least not this much. The moment he transformed all he could see is red. His mother has warned him about how the wolf spirit is very aggressive and demanding, and it gains even more influence when they are transformed. That couldn't hold a candle to what he is feeling right now. He tries to hold it back, try to force the control. He is successful enough too until the killing begins. When he rips the throat from the leader of red evil man, all seven hell breaks loose. All he could hear is to kill everything that is not of his pack. Kill everyone that had wronged him. Kill and desiccate their corpses for all to see. For the first time since he received the blessing from the wolf spirit, Jon Snow feels … fear. He fears that he will lose himself.

_And he wouldn't know how right he was._

Jon's mind turns fussy as he feels the pull of the blind eternity. He doesn't resist for he doesn't conscious enough to resist it anyway.

The last image that he sees is that of his mother in her werewolf form looking as shocked as the beast form let her to. The last thing he feels is rage and then things go blank.

…

**Meanwhile in Winterfell**

Septa Mordane had spent her life in Winterfell since the sept had been built after Lady Catelyn Tully married Lord Eddard Stark. When their first daughter, Lady Sansa Stark is born, Mordane is fortunate enough to be selected to be her tutor. With their second daughter, Lady Arya Stark, is old enough, she will join her elder sister in Mordane's class too. The septa thanks the seven every day for giving her his opportunity and she vows to educate the girls well. They would be raised as model followers of the seven. The shining beacon to educate the barbaric heathens of the north that the false gods of old are a lie.

It is late at night. Septa Mordane has just finished her night prayer. The other church fellows are about to retire for the night. They bid her a good night. Even if she isn't the head septon of Winterfell, they all respect her for she has the ear of the lord paramount and teaching his daughters.

*HOWL* they could hear wolf's cry as if it was near. They are in Wintertown, how could there by a wolf?

As if on cue, the wind stops blowing. The night is dead silent, but the tension could not be higher. Everyone in the sept knows how people look at them when they first establish their faith here in Winterfell. Oh, how those heretics see them as if they want to tear their body apart. These faithless curs don't want to hear that their god is a lie. They all remember how these barbarians want to make trouble for them. Well. What can they do now? They have the lord paramount on their side, and soon two of his daughters will steer things the right way.

They have no fear for they know that the seven will protect them.

*Bang* The front entrance bursts open, sending splinters everywhere. All the denizens of the sept rush in to see who dares to intrude their property. Whoever they are, they must be stupid enough to think that they would get away with it.

When the dust settles, their confident faces are replaced with horrors. Out of the darkness, came a large white wolf that stands on two legs. Its eyes are silvery grey and its fur's white and red. If the sight of the beast isn't terrifying enough, the intoxicating smell of fresh blood would do the job. The beast is seeming with so much rage that, to their eyes, it's tearing itself apart. The temperature of the sept plummets drastically. Ice forms on the floor as they have a cold sweat, literally.

"What in the seven hells are you?" yelled one of the acolytes. As if angered by the comments, the beast rushes him with blinding speed and claws his face off. He dies right away.

Seeing that their fellow is dead, mass panic occurs. The beast doesn't hesitate to start attacking others. One moment it was mauling the corpse, in a blink of an eye it bites the head septon's head off. The beast is powerful and acolyte Greg finds out the hard way. He tries to use the fire for the nearby torch to scare the beast away, thinking of it as an animal. The beast effortlessly smacks him with its elongated arm which sent him flying toward the sept's wall. His smashed head now rests inside his own body.

Septa Mordane is terrified but she knows that nothing she could do will help her stay alive from this calamity. She kneels down and prays. She prays to the seven to save her soul. Unfortunately for septa Mordane, she would find no salvation. It seems death is the only thing she would face tonight.

In the last moment of her life, the beast let out a bellowing roar that shakes the entire sept. Mordane makes peace with the seven right then and there. If she going to be mauled to death by a beast, she would do so with dignity.

Not in a hundred lifetimes, she would expect that the wolf beast can also breathe fire.

…

Entire Wintertown had awoken from the deafening howl. Babies cry. Children hide under their bed. Adults comfort each other in their arms. Some who are either brave or stupid, or both, rushes out from their homes to see what happened. They all heard the wolf cry and the voice seems to come from the town's sept.

They can hear the scream of the septons and septas. They can smell blood in the air. But they do not expect the sept to explode with a roaring flame.

The explosion rocks the entire town and the Winterfell castle nearby. The fire rises so high it could be seen from castle Crewyn. Out of the flame, they see a white wolf as tall as a full-grown man walking on two legs. The monster seems to drag a septa's corpse around. Its silvery grey eyes are full of rage and a promise of terrible death for those who get in its way.

They see it. They all see it and do nothing. No one, not even the bravest, not even the craziest, dares to do anything.

Only when dawn comes, and the monster had left they find something in the ash-covered ground of what used to be a sept. Somehow, all in the midst of slaughter, all in the raging fire, a weirwood tree had grown and the face on the tree is smiling.

…

Lady Catelyn Stark has been awoken when the Wintertown sept exploded. She had been to sleep happy as tonight since tonight, for the first time since the bastard had been missing, she had joined her lord husband in bed. She knows that both her and Eddard is getting old, but by the seven that was liberating. Everyone calls Eddard the Quiet Wolf, but her husband doesn't stay quiet at all in their previous activity.

_How blessed is the Mother, for she keeps the Father satisfied. And in turn, allows the Father to satisfied her._

But then this stupid explosion had to ruin it all.

Winterfell is now a mess. Guards running everywhere, while all the non-combatant personnel stays locked up together in the main hall. Lord Eddard personally lead his men to Wintertown to help calm down the chaos.

"But mother! I can fight." Argued young Robb Stark. "Sir Rodrik has been teaching me for years now. I can help father."

"Hush you. You should remain here where it safe." Catelyn reprimands her oldest son. "Besides, you must be here to protect your siblings."

By her side are her children, all four of them. Her eldest daughter, Eight-years-old Sansa is hugging a five-years-old Brandon to help calm him down. Her youngest daughter, Six-years-old Arya is talking with Robb about how she wants to see what's going on.

Then Catelyn sees a shadow the size of a man crashed through the windows. It is a white beast so terrifying like it was born by the stranger himself. The beast head is that of a wolf, and it is soaked with blood. In its claws are a burnt body of some clergymen but she couldn't make out who. Its eyes are gleaming silver, as cold as death itself, and it's looking straight at her.

Everyone in the room screams and cries. Mass hysteria soon ensues. Everyone tries to run the furthest away from the white monster from the seven hells itself. All but one.

For the first moment in her life, Catelyn Stark found herself unable to move. Be it that she is too frightened, or she was still too sore from the activity with her husband earlier, only she would know.

The white beast spends no time waiting and makes a beeline toward the lady of Winterfell. Any men that tried to get in its way is swatted with the dead body it held in its claws.

Thinking that she is about to die, she remembers the face of sickened Jon Snow, her husband bastard, when she prayed in his room the night he disappeared.

_**Murderer**__._

Once again, the word rings in her mind. Then comes another.

_**You reap what you sow.**_

"Hyaaaagh!" She heard the firstborn screamed as he hit the beast with a training sword. The beast doesn't register the impact. It growls and turns away to face Robb.

Catylen's blood freeze in her vein as she realized what could happen next.

…

For ten years Robb Stark has been living, he has never felt so stupid. Who is he to face a monstrous beast when the full-grown man could not? The beast towers over his head and seems strong enough to tear an armored man apart with its claws.

He finds himself looking straight at its eyes. The glowing silver pairs soon fade to grey. The wolf monster's expression shifts as if it regains some sanity. If it has any sanity at all, that is.

Robb closes his eyes and makes peace with the gods both old and new. He waits for the moment of death.

But that moment never came.

He winces as he hears a mournful howl of a wolf coming right in front of him. He opens his eyes to see it clawing its own face and dragging a burnt body away like a ragdoll. The beast looks left and right as if to observe the terror that it caused. Then the unexpectable happens.

It leaves them alone. Leaving a burnt body in front of his lady mother and rushes out of the main hall. In his own stupidity, he follows as fast as he could. Then he finds that his little sister, Arya has done the same. When they make out of the main hall, he can only see its silhouette jumping over the castle wall under the light of the moon. With its path, it seems like it is heading straight the Godswood.

In the next morning, the lord father sent men to search the area but found nothing. His mother is terrified. She murmurs something about how his bastard brother had come back from the grave for revenge on her

_If only they knew how right, she was._

…

Last night was a restless night of Arlinn Kord. Jon had his first transformation and they went out to tame a large pack of wolves to hunt some church's men. Everything went well according to her plan. Sent wolves to attack the flank while she drew their attention, then when the moment was right, had Jon went to cut the head. And then, the unexpected had happened. Something had driven him so mad that he lost control and planeswalked away. He came back unharmed, of course, but not the same. Jon seemed shaken.

As soon as Jon sees her, he transforms back to his human form.

"Jon! Do you have any idea how worried I have been?" She berates him as she hugs him tightly. "Don't you dare do that to your mother ever again!"

Jon, however, doesn't speak anything. He may seal his lips, but his scent never lies. Arlinn notices something wrong had happened right away.

"Little pup. What's wrong?" She strokes his mane gently.

Jon nudges himself even further into her arms. "_**I almost killed my own brother.**_"

Hearing that, she hugs him even tighter. She kisses his forehead and cradles his hair. "It's okay, little pup. It's okay." She feels his tear on her chest. Her little pup was hurt. But this time she couldn't just go and beat anyone who did it.

_Who knows being a mother is hard? clearly not Arlinn Kord._

"You should take a bath, though. You smell like you have been sleeping in a grave."

So, he went back to his birth-plane, wherever that is. It's no big deal to Arlinn though. They are planeswalkers, they are the only type of beings that could leave their past behind. The things that bother her was how he smelled like he jumped straight into a volcano. Even when he took a bath, of which she made sure he was scrubbed with soap and holy water at every orifice, to Jon dismay, his scent still didn't change.

**Jon still smelled like fire, smelled like death. **

**He smelled like a Dragon.**

…

**Custom card of the chapter**

**Card Name:** Unexpected Inquisition

**Manacost: **2RRR

**Types:** Creature – Human

**Card Text:**

Flash, Menace, Protection from White, Hexproof from Blue.

Unexpected Inquisition can't be countered.

**Flavor Text:** "Nobody expects the Spanish inquisition!"

**P/T**: 5/3

**Rarity:** Uncommon


	6. Chapter 6 The Maiden

**Chapter 6: The Maiden**

…

**Reviews**

**ZFighter18: **This was a really awesome combination.

If that is his final form, then perhaps.

**Ragnarshadow:** Catelyn Stark would be mad after this. She thinks Jon had returned to kill her. People in the North imagine this a punishment of the old gods because Jon kills the sept and try to kill Catelyn.

That and more. Chaos is a ladder all one can do is to climb it.

**Dragonbluejay1:** Is Daenerys going to be involved in the story? Will it be flavor full?

Yes, but she will not appear in quite a long while. Jon is currently 10 and growing up in other planes. It will be as much flavor as any crossover when a low-fantasy is crashed with a high-fantasy. A true dragon doesn't bow to a drake.

**Guest:** Card Name: Unexpected Inquisition, Flavor Text: nobody expects the Spanish inquisition.

That's much better than "How do you plead?". Thanks.

**Percy:** … coerced servitude to an all-powerful vampire planeswalker that he can't escape forever. It's a pretty well-meaning pf slavery in my book.

Well. If only there is a way for a magical binding, that is created by a pre-mending planeswalker, can be cheated through a loophole... *Wink* Ravnica's Guildpact and Liliana's contract. *Wink*

**Also, Percy:** He is a part dragon in Valyrian sense. Don't know you will make a magical side of that.

I have a plan. It will be able to explain not only Jon's power, but also the world of ice and fire itself: Oldgods, Weirwood tree, Doom of Valyria, The others, and **DRAKE** taming.

Let's say Jon's spark had awakened some dormant power…

…

**Previously**

"**Little pup. What's wrong?"**

"**I almost killed my own brother."**

…

The North, a kingdom that as large as the other six kingdoms of Westeros combined, is normally a boring place. It's cold. It's bleak. It's boring. Rarely do little birds sing a good song from there. Alas, today is not a normal day.

Today is the day everything goes to shit which is an exceptional feat considering the mess that is King's Landing. Westeros is in upheaval. The faith wants to launch the invasion to the North to bring the _'Heathens in the North' _to heel. Northmen want to burn down all the septs above the Neck. The Tullys demands the answer from the Starks. Crown owes millions of gold dragon in debt. Everything had gone to hells, all the seven of them.

And for Varys, everything is according to the plan. War will soon erupt, and other great houses will be too spent to resist the return of the Targaryens. His birds whisper a tale so ridiculous it must be true. He hears how the old gods seek to punish the Starks for allowing the faith of the seven to flourish under their rule. He also hears about the vengeance from the grave of Eddard Stark's bastard for all his mistreatment from the Lady of Winterfell.

He initially brushes off those rumors as preposterous. But there is no harm in preparing for a mass riot, but he has to do that later.

…

It is indeed rare for King Robert Baratheon to attend the small council's meeting. But when one considers the fact that his best friend's family has almost been slaughtered the few nights before, one could understand the reason. It's all everyone has been talking about since the raven reaches King's Landing. As uninterest as the king is, he will not sit still until the matter is resolved. Why shouldn't he, he is a king. He holds all the power in Westeros.

"Anyone has any ideas what in the seven hells is going on in the North?" commanded the king. Robert is sitting on his own chair which lies empty for most of the past decade. Not only it has not seen the use for many years, but it also isn't designed to support a hunk of fat that is the king.

Around the table are a member of the small councils. Grandmeaster Pycelle, Lord Renly Baratheon, Lord Stanis Baratheon, Lord Petyr Baelish, Lord Varys, and Lord Jon Aryn.

"Your grace. My little birds tell me that there is an explosion of a sept in Wintertown. People say they saw a large white wolf walking on two legs, killing the septons. They also say that the same wolf tries to attack Lady Catelyn Stark right in the middle of castle Winterfell, before running away. However, Lord Eddard's family is saved. Lady Catelyn claims that it was Lord Eddard's bastard, Jon Snow, coming back from his grave to take her life." Said Varys. He is uncomfortable about how ridiculous this sound. But his little birds never lie. If it was a rumor, they would tell him it was so.

"Bah. Stop talking bullshit, Varys." Yelled the king. "If this is the sort of shit your little bird told you, you should get a new one. Anyone else?"

"People can see things what they want to see, brother. They probably let their imagination run wild. You know how the Northerner is like." Said Lord Renly.

Varys might want to agree with him, but he knows when more than dozen of his little birds, two of which see the incident with their own eyes, confirm the same thing, it was not an imagination gone wild.

"Majority of the North still worship the old gods, and the faith always wants to expand their influence up north. They probably burn down the sept to send a message and scare Lady Stark, since she was the reason why. The story is just that, a story. Maybe they used the fact that the bastard who had been dead for two years and Lady Stark never get along as a cover." Rationalized Lord Stannis. The king seems to agree with his brother and nods. "I'm sure that Lord Stark could handle the situation on his own."

"Finally, something good comes out of your mouth Stannis." Said the king. "Shame though. The bastard had died, and those fools still blame him from even beyond the grave. Do you know that when Ned brought him here all those years ago, I carried him in my arm? The boy even grabbed my beard and gave it a mighty yank. He would be a fine lad too. What a waste, he could have been squiring for me."

…

**As Westeros is in turmoil, so does Innistrad. So, it's a very calm and peaceful day in Innistrad. **

Jon is, for the lack of a better word, excited. He had been moping around for months, even with a caring mother that trying her best to cheer him up. She even tried to take him to others province of Innistrad, "for a walk". Even though it was nice, especially in Nephalia where he met a female inquisitor trainee named Thalia, he couldn't let go of the regret of almost killing Robb.

The mass murdering of the septons and septas didn't bother him that much since they already preach that he was a monster since birth.

Anyway, Thalia is a nice girl and only a few years older than Jon. She was selected to be his challenge by his mother. It was the same challenge he did with Henrietta but was much harder due to her being in a Cathar. Not only that, she was one of the most promising students of Elgaud Grounds. They had met when she was on a mission to be stationed at Dranau port. And, by the old gods, she knew how to fight. They fought against vampires attack together one time, of which she noticed his skills and style of fighting. They bonded after he told her a cover story with a slight change. Oh, and yes, she kissed him, a lot of time in fact, after their multitude of secret meeting over a month or so.

…

**A few weeks ago**

_Fuck my life! _Internally screamed Thalia. The mission she is assigned on supposed to be safe. She just needed to follow the more experienced members of the Cathar to see how they patrol. She even got the simplest task: ask the locals about the news.

Then why, in Avacyn burning glory, did she fight vampires on her own? Granted, they are merely a fledgling teenager that has been recently turned, but their number is overwhelming.

Thalia grips her sword tight. The blade is made from moon silver, thrice blessed by a priest she might add. Its might is potent enough to kill a vampire of this caliber when she strikes true.

She is surrounded. Five is the number of enemies that she sees. They have cornered her after one of them disguised as an injured citizen asking for help and lead her here.

At this moment, Thalia realized how stupid she could be.

There is no talk, not even intimidation. The vampires just go for the kill. Of course, Thalia would not let them kill her that easy. She swings her sword to parry the first and dodges the second. Seeing that there is an opening, she decapitates the second attacker. The headless vampire turns into dust in an instant. With the confusion the disintegration caused the newly turned vampire, Thalia able to thrust her sword into her first attacker's heart, killing it too.

_Two down, three to go._

As she turned to face the rest, she got kicked in the back. The attack launches her ten meters away and she crashes into a cold stone wall. Strong for a human she might be, she couldn't match the strength of a vampire. Blood splattered on her lips. The wind is knocked out of her.

Just as the vampires are going for a kill, he comes to her rescues. A boy named Jon. A boy that she somehow found herself take a liking to when she asked around for news. A sweet and gentle boy that even younger than her by two to three years. She didn't ask.

In his hand is a spear. The blade is also moon silver. And its guard is in a style that of the church. Where did he get that spear? Why did he have it on him? There are so many questions she wants to ask had the vampires weren't here.

She sees Jon jumps down from the roof and lands right between her and the 3 vampires. He takes a boar tusk stance and, within moments, dashes toward the nearest vampire. He then backsteps as he successfully baits an attack. With his advantage of reach, he thrusts at an unprotected belly of his enemy. His spear drives through the vampire body. As he retracts the spear, he tilts it upward, the blade cuts the vampire in two from the belly up. He then switches hands into a full iron gate stance to block an incoming attack, uses the butt of the spear to disrupt his attacker movement, headbutt it and sweep it legs. The vampire falls down and he slammed the tip on its heart, killing it.

_Four down, one to go._

Jon then picks his spear up and throws it at the last vampire. He is fast, very fast. And it is fast enough that the vampire couldn't react in time.

_All five are down._

"Jon!" Thalia calls his name. Jon turns to her but doesn't answer. He moves quickly as if he is running himself at her. Does he want a hug? No, it shouldn't be. This is far quicker run for just a hug.

Thaila then finds the answer she is looking for when Jon slams the sixth vampire that about to snap her neck into the wall. He can barely hold it off. Lucky for them both, Thalia is conscious enough to use her weapon. She thrusts it right into the vampire's mouth, killing it instantly.

_Well. All six are down. Time to get answers._

"Jon." She calls his name again. She doesn't realize that she is currently looking into his eyes. Nor she finds that he is also looking into hers.

"Lady Thalia." He replies. Their face is only a few centimeters apart.

"How do you are so good with a spear? And your style … those are the church technique."

"It's a long story. Milady." He answers.

"Well then. Tell me a short version right now." She smiles. Then she winks. "Tell me a long one later."

"As you wish." He smiles back. "My mother was an archmage of the Goldnight. She broke the vows of chastity and … well, had me. She got excommunicated until she could do something of note to redeem herself. The church wants the Matriarch of Ulvenwald dead, but that monster can fight a hundred man, let alone just the two of us. So, we travel around finding our opportunities and she is training me along the way."

_Impressive._ Thalia thought. "Is that so …" She pauses. "I don't believe you. You have to tell me in detail until I'm satisfied. Same place, same time, don't be late."

She flicks his forehead and walks away. Not seeing a smirk that Jon gives when she turned around.

…

It sucks that he had to leave, but Thalia had been recalled back to Havengul to further her training, and he needs to, as his mother told him, further mastering his power elsewhere.

"So. This is probably the last time we will meet in a long while, Jon." Said Thalia. "Shame, though. I think you will do well in the academy, being the second-best after me of course."

Jon smiles at her notion. _If only she knows. If I go to her academy, they will not only burn me but probably skin me alive._

"Aye. Milady. But my mother is still excommunicated. It will take some time before she becomes an archmage again. Maybe I will be one too. Then we can meet as much as we like." Said Jon. He looks longingly into her eyes.

And that makes Thalia giggles. "Oh Jon, you silly, silly boy." She lightly punches his arm. "Is that a promise?"

"Yes, milady." Jon answered. "I swear in the name of Avacyn."

"I like that." Thalia smiles. To her, Jon is not like other boys who want to befriend her because of her looks or her reputation. Jon just wants to be her friend and, maybe, sometimes a kissing partner. Not to speaks about his impressive use of his spear.

"Like what milady?" He teased.

"I like the way you address me as my-lady."

"I'm glad you like it milady." Jon smiles. _Oh, she is adorable_. He thought, then moves closer.

"Okay, you are overdoing it too much now." She gently hits him again. Still, their body is almost touching.

"If you say so, milady." Yes, Jon knows he is taking a piss. But he loves this side of Thalia, she smiles and plays along even he is intentionally annoying her.

"Thalia! Where are you?" They heard some older Cathar calling her. Both jerk back and separate.

"It seems this is a goodbye, milady. If Avacyn willing, we may meet again soon." Said Jon as he gets on one knee. He takes her hand and kisses it, before darting away into shadows and disappear. Unbeknownst to Thalia, he stays close and eavesdrops on her conversation.

All the while, Young Thalia could only blush. Seeing that her comrade is coming for her, she tidies up and act like nothing happening.

"Oi. Thalia. Who's that boy? Your lover?" The older Cathar teased. "Why don't you … introduce him to me."

Jon senses that Thalia heart rate spikes when the question was asked.

_Oh! WOW!_ That was all he could think.

"I'm not telling you anything!" Yelled Thalia, before she runs away.

…

"Feeling any better? Jon." Asked Arlinn. She is happy for her son. At least he doesn't brood anymore. But she also knows that getting close to a militant member of the church is akin to playing with fire. One small mistake and both of them will be burnt alive if they could not planswalk away in time.

"It's better. Mother. The mission is successful. The Cathar is too busy dealing with Stormkirk vampire to care about the rising number of werewolves near its border. The howlpack could expand three-fold and they would still don't bat an eye."

Arlinn nods but she doesn't say anything. It doesn't matter what the situation is. Her territory is in Ulvenwald. The mission she sent Jon to do was only to get his mind out of the depression. However, Jon, as the best pup he always been, took on this task very seriously.

"So. What's next?" Asked her son. He doesn't sound excited, at least not as much as he should. Parting from a girl he is close with probably affect him.

"We're heading to Tarkir." Answered Arlinn.

"Tarkir." Jon thinks out loud. "I recognize that name. It's the place Lord Sorin talks about. But mother, I never see that name on a map. Does this mean I need to planswalk?"

_Oh, He's smart._

"Yes, little pup. Now, hold my hand and never let go. I will guide you there." Arlinn smiles.

When Jon does what he was told, they planeswalk away.

…

Unlike Innistrad where horrors lurk in every corner so much that it hardened Innistradian. Tarkir is a plane that is shaped by war. Once there were five clans and five dragon broods that wage war upon each other. Now, only five clan remains not because the dragons are gone but because the dragons were the victor. Now, the clans and the dragons are one. Abzan, Jeskai, Sultai, Mardu, and Temur, five names of the clan long defeated and absorbed into the dragon broods. Once there was a timeline that the dragons are extinct and the clans fight among themselves, but with the interference from a certain planeswalker, the fate had been reforged.

Still, some legend endures. One such legend like Surrak of the Atarka. In the Unwritten, he was the leader of the Temur frontier, their Dragonclaw. Now, he is Dragonlord Atarka's Hunt Caller, the chief feeder of Atarka herself. He is the greatest member of the clan apart from the dragons, for he answers only to Atarka alone. If the dragon interferes with his life, he just punches them to the smithereens without any consequence for Atarka values strength above all else.

And he did indeed punch a dragon, even it is a sick one. It was an epic confrontation during one of his missions. Atarka even praised him for that. His feat had become legends among the Atarka clan and a thing to be strived for.

With his importance, he never found himself alone, there are always people accompanying him after the missions, whether a powerful brothers-and-sisters-in-arms or willing maidens. Then … why? Why does he still feel so lonely?

Surrak was dragged away from his own thought by a call for the feast from his overlord. Once the time for her feast was near, which was almost all the time that he didn't spend hunting. He gathered his men and head out to look for some mammoth. He hoped the hunt would be quick enough for him to have some more rest.

Sure, sex is good, but when you are out constantly hunting for a dragon overlord that can breathe a green flame and can kill you with her voice alone, long sleep and just resting is much better. Maybe he will build a snowman. He hears that the clan's younglings love to do it and want to try it himself. Considering that Atarka's land is under a blanket of snow all year round, he always has time.

Imagine how surprised he has been when he found a barely ten-winters-old child killing 5 yetis by himself with only a spear in his hand. He doesn't know this child. His appearance along could pass for being his fellow clan members, but who in the right mind bring a boy this age to a hunt. Moreover, who thought it was a good idea to leave him alone in a yeti's territory.

_And why does this boy look fairer than most of Artaka girls his age? How is that even possible?_

The boy is good. Really good. His spear darts left and right, overcoming the defend of the bipedal beasts. His trust is strong and true. The protection of a dense fur and a thick fat of the yetis doesn't even affect his attacks. One by one, the beasts fall. The boy shows a mastery of his weapon and his awareness of the surroundings too. The last two of the yetis realized it was a good idea to attack at the same time. The boy dodged the attack from his front, sidestepped and plunged his spear into his enemy arm pit stabbing through its heart. He then let go of his spear and dashed back to get inside the effective range of the attack from his back. He crashed into his other enemy, leading with his elbow. The crash staggered the last yeti and left an opening. He then turned his palm into a fist and slammed it right on his target chin. The punch was so fierce it snapped the yeti neck right away.

Then the boy turned and bore his fangs at them. His radiated an aura that was akin to a wolf than a man.

Surrak has to say he is pleased with the boy's performance. It's quite a feat to impress the dragon puncher.

"Oi. Boy. What's your name?" Asked Surrak.

"My name is Jon Snow." The boy answered. This _Jon Snow_ even smirks the same way he is.

_Damn. _Thought Surrak._ It's as if I'm looking into my own past._

"Jon? What a weird name. And what do you do here alone? Where are your parents?" Surrak asks again. He knows the hunt is delayed, but he knows he couldn't lefts this boy here. Sure, he might be young, but he already proves himself when he slaughtered five yetis by himself. Some adults from his clan couldn't even do that.

"My father is no longer here. I'm with my mother." Jon answers.

"Your mother takes you here to hunt!" Surrak surprises. This is mad. What kind of mother would be that reckless?

"No. My mother takes me here for a walk. We found a mammoth herd, so she is now hunting them."

"And she leaves you here, alone, in a yeti territory?" Surrak concludes that Jon mother must either be mad or an absolute legend.

"No. She asked me to take care of these things, so they don't try to steal our kills."

Surrak's eyes widened when he hears the answer. If someone else told him this story, he would punch him in the face. He has to meet this boy's mother.

*Rumble*

Everyone scatters as they hear a stampede. A mammoth stampede. It is getting louder and louder. Everyone knows that mean their preys are nearby.

"And there she is." Jon points at the largest mammoth's head. Surrak sees some figure on top of it.

And then that mammoth collapses. Its dead body slides toward them and stops right in front of him. One woman jumps down from it. And damn, she is beautiful. She is not like a fair maiden back at the camp. This one is a warrior through and through. Black hairs that gradually become white at the tip. Brown eyes. A scar on her forehead as a sign of battle experiences. She looks battle-hardened, but she also looks young enough to be around his age.

Yes. Surrak is smitten. By a woman almost twice his age, be he doesn't know that.

…

Arlinn just has one of the best hunts of her life. A mammoth is a worthy prey. Larger than any beast found on Innistrad, it is a thrilling hunt to have. She killed it alone, of course. She tasked Jon to deal with possible interuptions from the yetis. Still, they have no idea where they were on Tarkir. She had never been here before.

_Damn you, Sorin. Seek Ulgin out … and where the fuck is Ulgin exactly? _

For months they had been wandering around in the snow. Too much snow. Had it not been for their binding with the wolf spirit, they would be frozen to death a long time ago.

After killing the largest mammoth in the heard, she looks around for her son. His scent is nearby, but he is surrounded by others. Men and women, she assumed. It doesn't take long for her to find Jon in the white field of snow. The other people are strong built. They are clearly a hunter of the sort. Then her eyes move to one figure, possibly the leader of this hunting group.

Arlinn soon finds herself cannot move her eyes away from the man.

_That dark hair and well-sculpted body. That antler puldrons and curve swords. Oh. He will do._

"Jon. My little pup. Who's your friend?" She asked. "Tell me about the one with two blades. The rest … you don't need to bother mentioning them." She points at him.

"I don't know, mother. I'm just about to ask them when you drop in." Said Jon as he plucks his spear from the yeti's corpse and launches at a smaller mammoth faraway. The spear strikes through in its eyes and it crashes down. Dead.

Arlinn is impressed. Any respectable mother would congratulate her son. But she has to do that later for she has found another worthy prey.

"Well then. Why don't you tell me?" Asked Arlinn. She intentionally sways her hips more than she usually does. She looks into her prey's eyes "Tell me about everything."

…

**Custom Card of the Chapter**

**Card Name:** Puppy Love.

**Mana Cost:** 1WG

**Types:** Instant

**Card Text**: Exile all attacking creatures, return them to the battlefield under their owner's control at the beginning of their owner's next upkeep.

**Flavor Text: **Contrary to a common belief, love indeed can bloom on a battlefield. If you are on the same side, or you decided he is worth the hunt.

**Rarity:** Rare


	7. Chapter 7 The Smith

**Chapter 7 The Smith**

…

**Reviews**

To avoid a minor spoiler, I will put some respond to the review at the end.

**Pnguyen18:** If Surrak is the dragon dad, can you make a scene where Jon punches a dragon?

Of course. It would be a shame to let that opportunity go to waste.

**Guest:** I really hope you won't pair Daenerys with Jon. 70 percent of most fic has them paired together; it gets annoying.

See the character tag. BTW, what is the 70% of most? 66.5%? 😊

…

**Previously **

"**It seems this is a goodbye, milady. If Avacyn willing, we may meet again soon."**

"**Jon. My little pup. Who's your friend?"**

…

Growing up at Winterfell, Jon first thought that he was used to cold. It turned out that the coldness of the North was nothing compared to the frozen wasteland of which they planeswalked to. His mother told him that Tarkir was a plane ravaged by war and it hardened its denizens. What she didn't tell him was that the environment was as much as dangerous.

He and his mother had been wandering in this frozen tundra for months. They found down a small heard of mammoths. Their wolf instinct told them that there were active hunters in the area and following these preys would lead to them.

And what do you know, they were right.

After Jon and Arlinn downed two mammoths and some yetis, they were confronted with somewhat friendly hunters. Jon didn't know what his mother is thinking but decided to follow her anyway. She had been a planeswalker for far longer than he was, of course, she knew what she was doing.

"Tell me about everything." Said his mother. She behaved strangely. Probably her version of charm that she had him practiced so much.

_So, this is how an adult does the charm thing. I should observe this carefully._

Jon sees the hunters looking at each other as if they are waiting for something. They look back and forth and then to the man with antlers over his chest. He is a man a little more than twice Jon age, which means that he is also about half Arlinn age.

_So, the one that is talking to me is the leader of the group. Mother is so amazing that she knows it right away._

"I'm Surrak the Hunt Caller of Atarka." The man announces his name with eagerness. "Who are you two and what brings you here?"

Jon observes that this Surrak is nervous. Jon is amazed at what his mother could do. When he was younger, he doubted why his mother wants him to train himself wooing a girl. Now, he knows why. Just by saying two sentences, his mother had left her target vulnerable. She doesn't even need to invest anything.

And then he thought back about his performance with Thalia. It makes him knows how inefficient he was. He spent months wooing her. He risks his life saving hers. And in the end, he even had developed feelings for her.

_I need to be like Mother. Strong. Relentless. Wise._

"My name is Arlinn Kord. And this is my son, Jon Snow. We are wanderers looking for a place to call home." Once again, his mother tells a half-truth.

The hunters look at each other again. They say nothing. Until Surrak breaks out with a laugh.

"Then you have found it!"

"Surrak!" The hound-man yells his name. "They are strangers. They could be spies."

"Quiet Kharkus! Surrak is the Hunt Caller, not you. Who in the right mind would send a mother and a child as a spy? I say bring them with us and let Atarka sort them out." Berated one of the other hunters. This one is burning.

_That's it. Tarkir is weird._

"A hunter of your skill is always what we Atarka clan strives to be. The Dragonlord will be pleased with the service you will provide. I'm sure she will find both of you worthy." Comments Surrak as he waits for his peer's argument to die down. His eyes don't move away from Arlinn. "But we are on a hunt right now and we need to bring the prize back."

As if Arlinn catches the meaning behind Surrak word, she cut him mid-sentence. "Then you are welcome to have our kill. Consider it proof of our skills. But with two conditions." She smiles. A wicked smile.

Surrak face shifts as he hears the latter part. He doesn't even know what hit him. "And what are your conditions?" His eyebrows are raised.

Seeing his mother smiles like that make Jon proud. He knows who is in control of this conversation. Such dominance.

"We want an audience with the dragonlord. And ….." She then walks toward Surrak with her seducing steps. Then she whispered something into his ears. He can see that Surrak's eyes light up and enlarge to twice its original size.

Even with his enhanced hearing, Jon couldn't make out what that whisper is. Something about riding and something she want to do with his sword. Singular. Which doesn't make sense because the man uses two swords.

That whisper will continue to elude Jon for many years. It is only when, in his later years, Thalia shows him what does that phrase means.

And of course, Surrak accepts. They tag along the hunting part to kill more mammoths and carries their prize to the worshiping place, where the dragonlord reside.

…

Arlinn Kord smiles. She will soon meet the dragonlord. From what she knows, Ulgin is not only a pre-mending planeswalker but also a dragon. He should know what to do with Jon.

She, however, doesn't notice a confusion of her child, nor does she care if he did. The faster they get to Ugin the better. Sure, she loves to spend time with her son, but she also has needs that she finds …. Relief.

_Atarka clan seems to respect strength. This Surrak better gives a lay worth my time._

For two years, she stays vigilance taking care of Jon. She ignores the bestial impulse of the wolf spirit as much as she could. But she also knows it a thing that she could not overcome. Best she gets it releases on a mate of her choosing. Someone strong and confident like this Surrak.

_Oh. I would enjoy breaking you, Hunt Caller. Just you wait. _

It does not take long before they arrive at the worshipping place, Ayagor, the Dragon's Bowl. They travel past many of the Atarka clan who wonders who two of them are. Some look up to them as someone they aspire to be. The others look at them with disdain, probably because they walk among the best hunter of the clan. As they approach, Arlinn could see beast-like dragons unlike the likes of those on Innistrad. Some are even twice the size of the largest dragon she knows of her home plane. They have antlers, horns, and furs. It makes her wolf spirit screams warning her of danger.

Then, the ground quakes as the largest dragon of the brood landed.

"Great Atarka, dragonlord and protector. This is a gift. Spare us, and there will be more." ceremonially said Surrak as his companions present five intact mammoth corpses in front of her.

_Shit. We come to the wrong dragonlord. Where is Ugin?_

The dragonlord Atarka doesn't hesitate to take a large bite on the mammoth carcass. Arlinn could see her serrated teeth the length of a horse cut through fur and flesh like a hot blade through the snow. With one big yank, she swallows half of the corpse in one go. She then let out an earth-shattering roar, signaling the others to begin the feast.

"Jon. Stays close to me." She calls for her son and grabs his hand. "If something happens, we are going back to where we came from." She sees Jon nods. "Be brave, my little pup. Do not show your weakness."

The feast ended in seconds. If it could be called a feast at all. The corpses are picked clean, only broken bones remain. Only then do the dragons notice them. They seem curious. Many moves closer to inspect them, some bare their fangs to intimidate them, some … some are preparing to do more. Their throat glow bright green, a clear signal for a fire breathing.

*ROAR* A deafening cry from the dragonlord throws stop other dragons in their track. They hurriedly back away in fear. Arlinn tenses as the dragonlord move closer to her and Jon.

She could only curse her luck as she prepares to planeswalk Jon back to Innistrad.

…

Since the moment she was spawned from the dragon vortex, Atarka had never been as perplexed as of now. Two new faces that come with her servants and she could notice their scent all over the offering. They seem to be new hunters, even one of them seems very small. The larger one seems stronger than what she let on. She carries herself like an apex hunter and very protective of the smaller one. Her ferociousness is admirable, for one so small.

Not since Yasova Dragonclaw, the last Khan of Temur and her first Hunt Caller, had Atarka feel this much strength emanates from such a weak body. She respects that.

But the smaller one is even more peculiar. His body is still weak, but his essence is strong. It is even stronger than most of her brood. His presence is that of a dragonlord, for his blood, even diluted as it is, reeks of something even far more ancient than her.

"WHO ARE YOU" She growls in draconic. Her voice echoes throughout her land. It startles her servant, but she doesn't care. She only cares for the two strangers in front of them.

Her question is met with silence. The larger woman seems like she doesn't understand her question. The smaller react, but not in the same way as her servant. He seems … enrage.

As her servants about to translate her word to them, the small stranger growls back in draconic. His throat lit up bright orange as his eyes turn into that which promise an utter annihilation. "My name is Jon Snow."

The little man seems shocked for his ability to speak a perfect draconic. He tries to hide his confusion, but it cannot escape the ultimate predator that is Atarka.

_Good. Such vicious power so packed inside that little frame._

"And what do you want, little Snow?" Once again, she asks the little man in draconic.

"I seek an audience with Ugin!" The one called himself Jon roars back. His booming voice is as harsh and cold as the winter itself.

Atarka eyes lit up as she heard the name.

_He seeks father_.

_He is one of them._

_Lucky me._

Atarka internally laughs. It is about time she gives a new command. It is about time for her ascendency.

"You are not yet worthy, little snow. Stay with the clan and become stronger. When you can fight and kill a regent dragon by yourself, I will take you to Ulgin." She roars a command. Her very voice shakes the sky itself.

_Soon the other four will bow before me. Then, and only then, Tarkir will be my feeding ground._

*ROAR* Her fellow broodings echo her edict. The very sky above their territory lit up with radiant green fire.

…

It has been three months since Jon and his mother were accepted into Atarka clan. He has just passed his eleventh nameday if his calculation is correct, but Jon knows he isn't that good at math. It's something he needs to correct in the future. Jon has no idea what his mother is thinking, but he trusts her with all his heart. They come here to seek out Ugin. He doesn't understand why she needs to be so …. Intimate … with the Hunt Caller. Not that he complains. He is happy with it, his mother is also happy with it, so it's all good.

Surrak sees himself as Jon elder brother and seems to dote on him. His mother even openly supports the idea. Surrak told him that it's his duty as an elder brother to guide his little brother to greatness, especially one that impresses Atarka. It is the same sentiment that his mother also shares, and somehow, he doesn't know why they are so in sync with each other.

That and the fact that his mother decides to spend a lot of time with him alone doing gods know what. Everyone told him that he will eventually know when he grows up. And many female hunters offer to be the one to teach him when that time comes.

Sooner than he realized, Atarka clan becomes his family. Here he has a mother and a brother, who somehow had been very close to each other. Jon fears that his mother will abandon him in favor of Surrak, but both of them assure him that he is still their favorite, somehow. He has friends who only judge him by his performances. And when he does overperform, they praise him for that. He even gets to see a dragon up close!

The latter is a courtesy of the dragonlord. An actual dragon unlike the inbred Targareans of Westeros. Atarka herself seems to have a grand plan for him, which makes him her next favorite thing since food and Atarka does obsess her food.

_This family is weird. At least it is better than Winterfell._

…

Jon finds Surrak a nice fellow. He is friendl and cares for others. He teaches Jon all about the five clans of Tarkir: their member races, their strength, their tactics, and how to fight them. He even spares no expense teaching Jon in his brand of magic. And more importantly, he teaches Jon how to punch a dragon and live to tell the tale.

"Remember, little brother. When you tapped into the land and summon its power, you need to focus. Concentrate and observe everything around you. Feels the rage of the mountains and the vigor of the forests. It allows me to best a dragon and I believe it will allow you to achieve something even greater." Surrak pats Jon's shoulder.

"Even greater than besting a sick dragon?" mocked Jon. Surrak laughs.

"A sick dragon is still a dragon Jon. It may lose its reason, but it can still kill you as easy. Anyway, I believe you are more talented than me. Atarka even favors you, and as you know she doesn't like anything unless it comes to her food."

"She wants me to hunt a dragon alone!" Retorted Jon. "How can I even reach a dragon when I have an entire clan that hates us in my way?"

"Don't worry about that yet, little brother. Now, concentrate and try."

Jon sighs in defeat and follows his elder brother instruction. He closes his eyes and concentrates his mind at his surroundings. He feels the earth beneath his feet. He feels the air above his head. His consciousness expands outward and, at that moment, he feels like he is one with his surroundings. He could feel the mana of the plane itself traveling through the leylines. He reaches out for it and it rushes to him like a dragon to the offering at Atarka's feast.

_It makes him feels like he could wrestle an alligator and tussle a whale. He feels like he could catch lightning and throw it in jail._

Jon opens his eyes and it burst out with more power than he ever could imagine. The very air seems to crack open around him. He could see excitement in his elder brother eyes.

"Well done! Jon. You did it on the first try. You are natural at this. You are indeed destined to do great things. Arlinn would be pleased." Surrak laughs. "Now, I will show you how to use that power to increase your strength."

…

More months have passed. Day by day, Jon grows stronger. He learns all he can from Surrak, the clan shaman, and on one occasion Atarka herself. The latter could be described as a verbal lecture in draconic. It was the feat that leaves the other clan members stunned, for it is well known that out the dragonlord doesn't like opening her mouth aside from eating and breathing fire.

What they don't know that the dragonlord want something to tip the balance between the five clans. And she deems Jon capable of doing so.

To the mundane observer, they would only hear a dragon and a boy taking a turn and growls at each other. Those who could grasp draconic would make out some word. Atarka's brood would not care what two of them speak. But between Jon and Atarka, it was a heated debate. The dragonlord sought to mold the boy into her image, while the boy questioned everything he heard.

"You have dragon blood in your veins, Little Snow. You can become much stronger, but you need to think as we do." Atarka growls. "Your thought is shaped by that of a human. Your limited mind is your own shackle, you need to break it. Allows your instinct to take control."

"Won't that mean I will lose control?" Asked Jon. He still remembers when he went on a rampage across Winterfell during his first transformation. The one that he almost killed Robb, which make him sad. But it also led him to Thalia, which make him less sad.

"Lose control? Control is just one limitation lesser races put on themselves. Dragon needs to be free. Embrace your passion. Be true to your own nature. When we are hungry, we eat. What enrages us, we destroy. What we want, we take. All because we are strong enough to do so."

Jon becomes silent as he contemplates what he heard. He knows Atarka is not a scholar. She just does what she does. But that doesn't mean that she is a mere brute. She is cunning, viciously so, and can easily contend with the other much shrewder dragonlord, such as Ojutai and Silumgar.

"Because you are strong enough to do so?" Asked Jon. "What about when you are not strong enough?"

"Then you are a fool to do such a thing. When a weak try to emulate the strong, they die a horrible death. Why does dragon rule and man serve? Because we are stronger. Why do we tolerate other clans? Because they are strong enough to resist us. Why do we don't expand beyond our territory? Because we are not strong enough to hold it. Do you understand?" Atarka let out an annoyed growl. She doesn't like talking too much, but she makes an exception this time for Jon.

Jon nods.

"Change your mind into that of a dragon. It will allow you to draw power from your essence." She spreads her gigantic wings and ascends to the sky. "Only then you can achieve the goal I set for you."

*Roar* Atarka lets out a bellowing cry. She circles around Jon's head, doing laps. Then she breathes out an emerald flame that lit the very sky ablaze.

…

Jon continues to train with Atarka clan for one more year. The harsh condition of living and the constant use of magic molded him into a strong young man. He might be only twelve namedays old, but he is more than qualified to join the hunt. He tried to learn everything he could. From time to time, he tagged along the raiding party to learn the way of guerrilla warfare. He received a lecture about the clan's history from the clan elder. He even sought out a hidden shaman of old to learn the old shamanistic way of the Temur Frontier.

They told him about thousands of years old legend of a man called the Sarkhan. A man that appeared out of nowhere and spoke about the unwritten. A man whose actions changed the caused of the war between khans and dragons. A being that was human and dragon both. A man who seemed to mysteriously disappear the same way he came.

Jon had no doubt this Sarkhan was a planeswalker. Strange, a pre-mending planeswalker should be much more powerful than what was described.

Seeing that Jon is being cared for by those she could trust, Arlinn left him to learn all he could and went back to Innistrad. She still occasionally drops by to stay, mostly with Jon but sometimes she spent it alone with Surrak. Jon still has no idea what happened between the two of them.

…

Today is the day that Jon is waiting for. Silumgar clan marches across their border, only to find them ready and waiting. Their attack had been seen in the shaman's visions.

Servant of the Drifting Dead, both alive and dead, pour into the valley that they call home. In the sky, serpentine dragons colliding with the hungering host of antler and furs. Emerald fire and noxious acid cloud block out the sun. On the ground, men kill men. They led a relentless horde of zombie, naga, and rakshasa clashes with the ainnok, elemental, and their beast companions. Warriors are dying, just to be raised up and killed again. Swords and spears cut through fleshes as if it had no meaning. Spells are slung without hesitation about how much damage it would cause. It is brutal. It is horrible. And somehow, Jon finds that it is where he belongs.

_There!_ Jon finds his target. A Deathbringer regent. He roars a deafening challenge in draconic. With spear in hand, he readies himself for a confrontation a lifetime.

*Roar* The Silumgar's regent accepts. It cut through the air as if it was nothing. Acidic poisons spew from its mouth. Its serpentine eyes promise a horrible death.

At that moment everyone around him, both friends and foes, know that a new legend will be forged today.

…

**Reviews (Cont.)**

**Ragnarshadow:** Surrak is the dragon dad …

Still thinks he is?

…

**Custom Card of the Chapter**

**Card Name: **Force of Brutality

**Mana Cost: **3RG

**Types: **Instant

**Card Text: **

You may exile a red card and a green card from your hand rather than pay this spell's mana cost

Choose one –

Deal 3 damages to each creature except for green creature you control. Your creatures gain trample until end of turn.

Destroy all creatures with flying except for red creature you control. Your creatures gain double strike until end of turn.

**Rarity:** Rare


	8. Chapter 8 The Father

**Chapter 8: The Father**

…

**Reviews**

**Payton12:** Are we getting Ghost?

In some form, yes.

**Ragnarshadow:** I don't think Ugin or Sarkhan will let one of the ancient dragons die …

Yes, they wouldn't. It will not be that simple just to kill one of the iconic dragons. It should be noted that every character has their own motivation. Most of the time, they don't share with others. Atarka has her own plan. Just wait and see.

…

**Previously**

"**You have dragon blood in your veins, Little Snow. You can become much stronger, but you need to think as we do."**

"**Change your mind into that of a dragon. It will allow you to draw power from your essence."**

…

Jon strides through the battlefield. His spear twirls and strikes at his closest enemy. The relentless tide of zombies means nothing to him. Jon channels Tarkir's mana into himself. He taps into the red mana of mountains and green mana of forests, of which Atarka land has plenty. His skin is hardened to the point that it will break steel weapon. His wolf spirit's enhance muscle is elevated to the next level that no mortal defense can withstand his attack. With his punch and kick, he obliterates the walking dead. Nothing the Silumgar's army throw at him can prevent him from reaching his target.

He doesn't bother to dodge, for their weak teeth and fangs break apart on his very body. His strategy is simple. whatever stands in front of him dies.

With a twelve-years-old Jon as a spearhead, the Atarka's force cut through Silumgar invader with ease. Whatever their enemies try to put up to challenge them, they face it head-on under Jon leadership. Demonic magic of Silumgar's Rakshasas is found wanting in the face of the raw power of Atarka's elementals. The slyness of the naga is overwhelmed by the sheer brutality of the Ainnok. With each attack, Jon maintains the momentum of his clan. Soon, he and his followers become a wedge that breaks Silumgar army in two.

And then his target joins the fray. The dragon opens its mouth and lets out a black fog. Everything that it touches melt into a puddle of tar.

"Spread out!" Shouted Jon as he sees the **Deathbringer Regent** attacks coming. He quickly summons his draconic power. He taps into both mountains and forests, channels the mana into himself, and turns it into a **Draconic Roar**.

*ROAR*

The air in front of Jon's face ignites into an emerald flame. It spread outward and upward in an uncontrollable manner. Within a blink of an eye, the flame spreads into the sky and collide head-on with the poisonous gas. His flame burns away Silumgar's regent attack whenever it touches. With the loss of his force mitigated, Jon pushes on. His enemy is in a disarray from friendly fire and ready to be routed anytime.

The battle turns sluggish as the momentum of the initial charge starts to wane. The first blood goes to Atarka but the Silumgar forces are nothing but endless. With every death, there would be one more potential warrior to be raised. For every second that has passed, their number grows instead of dwindles. Unless their necromancers are slain, their number could be bolstered all the time. And with those damned necromancers at the backline, it would be hard for Jon to cut through their number before facing the dragon regent. If nothing is done, it will result in a stalemate at best and Atarka clan is pushed back at worse.

Deathbringer Regent swoops down trying to rectify its problem but got intercept with a Foe-razer regent of the Atarka clan. The two regent dragons don't do battle for long since Atarka had decreed that the battle is for Jon and Jon alone.

*HOWL* Jon let out an earth-shattering howl. It is a signal for self-proclaimed elder brother. The thick snow bursts open as Atarka's shamans spring their trap. The sudden **Windstorm** kicks up snow to completely blocks out their enemy vision, preventing them from seeing anything beyond their arms reach. It is also true for Atarka clan, but every single one of them is used to fight in a snowstorm. In this situation, they hold all the advantages. Just like an old saying since the Temur days.

_One hand can't hit what one eye can't see._

With their peripheral vision compromised, the Silumgar's ground force is a sitting duck and their dragons are inefficient since they couldn't see what is on the ground. They cannot even attack the ground randomly, not when Atarka broodling is contending the sky with them. Atarka clan, on the other hand, has another surprise.

A loud battle cry could be heard from the flank of Silumgar's force. From the other three directions, Surrak and other hunters rush out from their hiding. Catching their enemy by surprise, the hunt caller's force cut down all their opposition, which contains the majority of the Silumgar's necromancer. When the snowstorm fade, the invader's ground force has been completely collapsed.

Jon can see that his brother is smiling so wide it could spill his face in half. He has to give it to Surrak. The man knows how to ambush. What or who are they ambushing made no difference if Surrak is the one who handles it. All Jon needs to do is to follow the plan.

…

A cheer rings across the valley as the snowstorm fades. The opposition is cleared, and all their little Snow has to do is kill a regent. If he is anyone else, it would be crazy and suicidal. But this is Jon Snow they are talking about. A boy of twelve winters old that exceeds their expectations time and time again. A boy who can hunt an entire mammoth heard alone. A boy with dragon blood and scion of Atarka herself. If he can't do it, no one could. Besides, it Atarka's command. They can either follow it to a letter or become her food.

But then a sky cracks open with a lightning storm and a sound of thundering hoofs of a Kolaghan's riders charging throws all their plan into chaos.

*ROAR*

Leading the charge is a **Thunderbreak regent**. The red dragon with four feathery wings cuts through the sky at a blitzing speed. And what that follows it is a stampede of riders on horseback that can make Dothraki looks like a slow child riding a pony. They appear on the horizon and soon their arrows will blot out the sky. They will cut through snow like a, well, a hot blade through the snow. Their speed is unmatched on any land. If collide, nothing will withstand their charge.

"Retreat!" Surrak bellows a command. "Retreat to the high ground!"

This going to be a long day. The battle will be hard-fought. Many more will die.

…

The war council is called as soon as all the major figure of Atarka clan is regrouped. They don't have much time. Kolaghan's army will not wait for them to be ready. They need a plan and they need it now.

"Anyone has any plan better than counter-charge them?" Asked Surrak. As a Hunt Caller, his normal job is to ensure there is food for Atarka, as well as, conducting a raid on other clans. He is well versed in being an attacker. Which also means he knows nothing about being a defender.

"Jon?" Asked Sakta, the Wide Whisper. She is barely older than Jon and even more attunes to the elements than him. She usually serves as a chief scout and should have seen the Kolaghan clan coming had she didn't focus on summoning a snowstorm. She is his teacher, friend, and sister. As the clan sees themselves as one big family, the latter position doesn't mean much. There are each other favorite, though. The others are weird.

There is once a rumor among the clan about matching two of them together to 'breed an ultimate warrior'. An action that appalled them both and they proceed to beat up anyone that tries to mention it.

_Adults are grossed._

"Are you calling his name? or are you suggesting that he is the solution?" Another female voice catches them off guard. Jon knows this one well.

"Mother!" Jon stands up and runs over to hug her. Even when everyone deems him an accomplished warrior, he is still twelve. Sometimes he still acts like a child.

"Where have you been, Arlinn?" asked one of the clan elder.

"Away." Arlinn answered with a smirk. "Do you want a better plan or not? Time is not a currency we have plenty of." She berates.

"Well. Let's hear it." Sakta joins in. "What's the plan?" She looks right into Arlinn's eyes without any sign of fear.

Arlinn seems impressed. The girl is fierce. She turns away from the girl and faces the council. "Facing Kolaghan clan on level ground is suicide. If even we held a high ground, we will be punched full of holes by their arrows. Let's bury them." Said Arlinn with a smirk. "I want to see how fast they can be when they stuck under thick snow."

Everyone in the clan grasp as they hear a farfetched idea. "Avalanche! Right." Sakta eyes lit up. "Give me some time to prepare, and I will give you an avalanche worthy of legends."

"See that you do, Sakta. Remember to make sure it doesn't kill us." Jokily commands Surrak. Everyone laughs at his comment.

That's one of the things Jon likes about this family. Even in the face of death, the Atarka can still laugh. His Westerosi kin would probably think they are mad. Well, they might be. But then again, Westeros doesn't have danger everywhere like Tarkir, which make lives there seems … boring.

Arlinn smiles "Well, prepare yourself little pup. You will likely have to fight two regent dragons."

_Well. Shit._

Jon sees that everyone's face drops right after his mother mentioned it. Somehow, Sakta seems to take it worse than others. Jon is oblivious about it, but Arlinn notices it at the first moment.

"Certainty of death. Small chance of success." Jon grins. "What are we waiting for?"

Cheers erupt from the hall. Two years was long enough for Jon to become of Atarka true and true.

Unbeknown to Jon, Arlinn taps Saktas's shoulder. She then speaks loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Don't worry about it. Jon will survive. Even if he cannot win, he can always find a way to return home." Arlinn sure to shift her accent slightly to that of Innistrad. It is a signal for Jon and Jon alone.

_If you cannot win, planeswalk away._

…

Within minutes Kolaghan's rider speed across the battlefield, cutting down any Silumgar's survivors that are in their way. They can see Atarka rabbles assemble whatever they could on high ground. Fools. They try to reduce the effect of the charges but leave themselves open to an arrow storm. It's too easy.

Too easy to be true, in fact. The very ground they ride on quakes, but it doesn't matter. Their horses are well trained, and they would not falter by such a cheap tactic of a shaman. A mere child play will not even slow them down. Their arrows are notched. Their bows are drawn back.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA" They hear multiple screams from the mountain. Whatever tactic the Atarka have, they would not falter. They are Kolaghan clan. They strike with a speed of lightning. They bring thunder. They would not be stopped by a stupid trick.

Oh, how wrong could they be. The screams overturn the mountain itself. Snow dislodge from the mountain peak and the ground quakes as if it is shattering apart. A **seismic shift** of this scale is unheard of. No one, no matter how powerful they are, should be able to bring down the mountain and split the earth.

They are correct. No one, alone, has that power. But all of the shamans of Atarka clan, include the hidden ones, combines can. And they did.

Before the Kolaghan's invader realize what happened, it is too late. An avalanche is already coming down on them. Faster than any horse and with a fury of the land itself, there is nothing they could do but brace the impact head-on.

Then the snow melts into water and then into steam, showing molten lava underneath. To add insult to the injury, the entirety of Atarka clan that currently present perform a **volcanic rush** into their immobilized front. Their non-existent defense collapse when lava collides with their battle line. Whoever unlucky enough to survive from cooling lava got stuck just long enough for Atarka's warriors to finish the job.

What they first thought was an easy battle becomes an instant rout. There and then, the battle on the ground is finished.

…

As the battle on the ground rages on, Three dragon broods battle for dominance of the sky. The air above erupts in poisonous smokes, crackling lightning bolts, and blazing fires. Oblivious to those on the ground, their fight rages on even after the other is concluded.

*ROAR*

Jon bellows with all his lungs. He calls forth a challenge to both regents. The sky tears apart, as other dragons dart away. The challenge could not be denied. No true dragon would dare do it. Atarka's Foe-razer regent landed behind him. It will not join the fight, as per **Atarka's command**. The other two regents descend with rage and fury. How couldn't they? An insignificant insect dares to challenge them in their own tongue. The ground erupts with toxic sludges and searing bolts. The battle is about to begin.

Jon stands ready. His blood is pumping hard and his wolf spirit howl for a fight to remember. Jon taps into all the source available to him. He calls all the power the wolf spirt could grant him. He channels all the mana he could grasp from both mountains and forests. He even seeks out the power that lies within his blood. He knows that he needs to be at his peak and beyond, for one slight mistake means a horrible death by corrosive poison and overwhelming electrocution.

Jon knows that his enemy will never fight as one. The best chance he could have is for them to obstruct each other. It is easier said than done, though. The regent dragon is cannot be easily tricked. They have taken an offense by his challenge and they will not stop before he dies a terrible death. Yet, he knows he could force them to attack each other if he carefully positions himself. He would need speed faster than he could ever be and awareness that beyond anything he used to.

Jon needs to be better. He needs to be … a dragon. Whatever metaphorical or a figure of speech by Atarka, the blood in his vein is that of a dragon. If being a dragon is the way to victory, then he must. And Atarka's dragon doesn't know retreat. They don't know defeat, only victory or death.

Jon calls forth the power he learned from the clan's hidden shaman. A skill that has been ban and is long thought lost. In his mind, he recalls the memory of a Temur clan passed from one hidden shaman to another, from one generation to another. He summons **Temur Rumemark**, a manifestation of the ferocious power that the clan represents. Green aura forms around each of his arms in the shape of a bladed claw. He will need it to breach a dragonhide.

Jon abandons his spear. He would not need it, for it will not even scratch the scale of his foes. He cannot afford to be on the defensive, so he rushes the Thunderbreak Regent. He dodges the lightning breath and for it left leg. He knows that the Deathbringer Regent is behind him. He is counting on it. That's why he tries to get as close as the Kolaghan's dragon as possible. To him, acidic poison is far more dangerous than lightning, and a relatively slower serpentine dragon is far less dangerous foe to fight.

If he could use one of them to harm another, his work would be much lighter.

Jon concentrates for another spell as he dodges a giant claw aiming for his head. The dragon is fast, but he is fast and small. He let go of all his rage and put it into another forbidden spell, **Temur Battle Rage**. With it, his speed is doubled as red flames burn on his manifested claws. He spins to dodge another incoming attack and lunges at Kolaghan's regent. His claws tear through its defense with each. First blood goes to Jon Snow.

Even though he gains the first blood, the damage that he causes is minuscule. At worst, it is a light wound in a fight between dragon. An impressive feat for a man, but that is all it is. The thunderbreak regent is annoyed and tries to attack him, but Jon is faster and dodges all of it. All the while the deathbringer regent is waiting for either Jon to slip up and die or another dragon to give him enough opening to go for a kill.

After taking hit after hit, the red dragon decides that it has enough. With a thundering roar, it let out a burst of power, discharging all the electricity it can muster in the form of a blast. The blast throws Jon off and he lands on the ground. Hard.

Unbeknown to Jon, Sakta's heart shrinks at the scene. She knows it would take much more than that to put him down, but a sight of him getting hurt makes her uncomfortable, unlike anything she felt before. Even though she doesn't want to admit it, Jon is her best disciple. He was her only disciple since others couldn't stomach the harsh regiment, she put them on. There is also another feeling that she is unfamiliar with and does not understand that she buries it deep under her stern posture.

And of course, Arlinn notices this.

Out of the cracked ground, Jon raises up undamaged. The blast caught him off guard, but he survived worse during practicing/sparing shamanism with Sakta. The girl is an exceptional shaman, but she is a bad teacher and worse sister. Her motto was 'Don't cry and try harder you little bitch!'

Meanwhile, the deathbringer regent waits for an opportunity to strike. The thundering discharge from his foe was one of them. It slithers as the poisonous breath starts to form in its mouth. As the other two are distracted, the black dragon rushes in and unleashes it breath on them both. The red dragon dashes back to avoid the fog while unleashing a breath of its own.

Jon, on the other hand, is trapped between to deadly breathes. It engulfs him whole and obscures all the visions from both inside out and outside in. Silent fells on the valley as no one dares to utter a single sound.

_Shit._

…

A few months ago.

Jon learns fast. Very fast. Faster than any man in the clan history. Every knowledge that they throw at him, he mastered it in days. It takes years for anyone to try to access the power of the land, but Jon did it on his first try. Even a complicated concept of using the very nature's power to protect one body and increase one strength, which takes him years to grasp, Jon learned it in weeks. He even learns some secret art of controlling the elements from the clan's shaman in months, when it took other decades to even start to comprehend its sheer complexity.

If that is not a sign for greatness, Surrak doesn't know what is.

"I won't lie to you, Jon. Every single man and woman who stood their ground, everyone who had fought a regent has died. But where they failed, you will succeed." Said Surrak.

"Why?" Jon snaps his head back and raises his eyebrows. He is contemplating how to mix the power he learns with his own innate ability. 'Wolf spirit', he and Arlinn called it.

"I've seen a regent melt through solid rock. Men have emptied their quiver and hit nothing but air. Yet, their strength and speed are still based on their own physical capabilities. Because of that, they will never be as strong or as fast as you can be." Surrak brings out two cups of liquor. He gives one to Jon and saves one for himself.

"What are you trying to tell me, that I can dodge their breaths?" Jon takes a swig of the drink. He tries to hide it, but the burn caused his face to redden.

Surrak laughs at his little brother. Both to his naivety and his low tolerance to alcohol. "I'm telling you that when you are ready, you won't have to."

Yes, dear reader. Blue pill or red pill?

…

In the valley where the battle is taking place, the wind blows harder and harder. The mixture between a poisonous fog and a lightning cloud is dissipating, revealing a boy of age twelve alive, whole, and unspoiled. The winds separate Jon from all the danger that surrounds him. This is not a miracle. This is one of the most sacred technique that Sakta ever beat into him.

He who can control the **Winds of Qal Sisma** cannot be harmed as long as the wind blows.

Jon knows he cannot be killed by these two regent dragons, but he cannot kill them either. He needs more power. Much more than what he currents has access to. The wolf spirit and dragon blood can only keep him from falling short. The mana he can tap from mountains and forests can only keep him on par with them. He needs more power.

So, he searches and searches as he keeps the wind barrier up. Breathe and claws fall short upon its walls. He could keep this up but not indefinitely. He needs a solution and he needs it fast.

And he found it in the Swamplands of Sliumgar's territory.

And from that moment forward, Tarkir had never been the same.

…

For thousands of years, the spirit dragon has been sleeping. He was beaten by his own twin brother. He was saved by a man that has never been born. And now, he is awakened by the blood of his kin.

His kin. One that he long thought dead has his power reawaken once more.

Ugin gathers whether little strength he has just to utter one name.

"**Vaevictis Asmadi**"

…

**Custom Card of the Chapter**

**Card Name: **Jon, The Eldest Reborn

**Mana Cost: **4BRG

**Types: **Legendary Planeswalker – Jon

**Card Text:**

+2 Until end of turn, Jon, The Eldest Reborn becomes a 3/2 Human Werewolf Warrior creature with doublestrike and trample that's still a planeswalker. Transform all Human Werewolf you control

-3 Until end of turn, Jon, The Eldest Reborn becomes a 4/4 Elder Dragon creature with flying that's still a planeswalker. Dragons you control get +2/+2 and trample until end of turn.

-7 You get an emblem with "Whenever your creature attacks, for each player, choose target permanent that player controls. Those players sacrifice those permanents. Each player who sacrificed a permanent this way reveals the top card of their library, then puts it onto the battlefield if it's a permanent card."

**Loyalty:** 4

**Rarity: **Mythic Rare


	9. Chapter 9 The Ineffable

**Chapter9 The Ineffable.**

**It seems I took too much time playing MTG Arena and Total War:Warhammer II. Sorry for the delay. No, I didn't hit a writer block, just procrastinating too much.**

**Again, more reviews, Q&A, and Comments are appreciated.**

…

**Reviews/ Q&A**

** : **Thxfu

Thanks

**Ragnarshadow: **Vaevictis Asmadi is the brother of Ugin and Bolas?

Technically he is their cousin because he is spawned from the different clutch of eggs. Which somehow makes sense in the elder dragon sort of way. To us, it is weird because they are all spawn of the Ur-dragon but when you are an immortal dragon that can rule a plane by yourself, you can call it whatever you want, I guess.

His first card exists since** Legends** and he had returned in an original elder dragon cycle in **M19**.

…

**Previously**

"**Vaevictis Asmadi"**

…

There was once a boy who doesn't know who his mother was. He was being lied to about who his father was. All his life, he yearned for their love, but he received none. He was powerless against the whim of fate.

One day, that boy received a chance for multiple lifetimes. He was trapped in a place he called home for all his life until that day. When he was on his death bed, his spark ignited, and his destiny became unwritten. He will bring change to wherever he goes.

But even among those who had their spark ignited, he was special. True, each spark is different. Some share it with others. Some are given or stolen. Some allow the owner to break the rule. But the boy was special. He was not an ordinary human. His blood contained an old power that was long forgotten. Blood of a dragon in men had long been dried out, weakened by diluting with mundane blood and incest both. At best, it would allow the owner to form a bond with a lesser beast of draconic lineage. At worst, the negative that stems from its progenitor would corrupt the mortal mind.

Diluted it might be, but the trace still remained. It was all that was needed for it to be rekindled. When the boy's spark ignited, so did the power hide in his blood. His potential was elevated to that of the blood of his progenitor. It was his boon, but it was also his curse. It granted him power, but the more he used the power, the more he changed. He would become more than human and in the end a human no more.

All dragons in the multiverse stem from one of the six elder dragons that survive the Elder Dragon War. Four of them were dead…. Actually, all six of them were dead, then the Ravager resurrected himself, and the Ineffable was saved by a time-traveling planeswalker.

And now, it seemed the Dire was also on the verge of returning.

What is dead may never die but rises again harder and stronger.

…

Black. Power at all cost. Self-interest.

Red. Unimpeded freedom. Emotions.

Green. Wild and untamed. Nature at its core.

Black, Red, and Green. Three colors of mana combine for only one purpose. To _Jund_ 'em out.

*ROAR*

…

The battle rages on. A barrier of whirlwind clashes with a stream of corrosive breath and lightning blast. Two large dragons with the size of a large castle try their best to just to fail at killing a little man. At least they have an upper hand.

Until they don't.

*Explosion*

Jon wasn't just Jon anymore. He is not only a wolf pup. He is not only an Atarka hunter. He is something more. Something much more powerful than he has ever imagined. Dragon blood flows in his vein, even when he doesn't know it. Even when his spark was ignited, the power still lay dormant. Only when he accesses the three color of mana at once that its power has fully awakened. But that power is not free, it never was. The more he taps into it, the more he loses a part of himself. What once was a boy of twelve, now become a rabid entity of death and destruction.

The **Winds of Qal Sisma** stops blowing in the midst of two attacks. One figure stands clear in the eye of the storm and doesn't even budge at the incoming tide of doom. He moves fast, twice the speed he once moved before. He turns into a black shadowy mist and rushes at the red dragon. The shadow expands into a large ugly dragon with a crest on its head. Its wings span over the valley blocking out the sky. The red dragon's lightning blast doesn't deter it nor slows it down. The Thunderbreak Regent blitzing speed is overshadowed by the new attacker as Jon, now in a shadow dragon form, slams into it. The claws of darkness rend its hide and flesh asunder.

For the first moment of the red dragon life, it feels fear. Then … it feels nothing for it succumbs to the fatal wound. Then and there Tarkir is short one regent dragon from Kolaghan's brood.

Jon smiles as he relishes his kill. The blood inside his vein is pumping hard. He wants more. He craves more. He demands more. So, he turns toward another regent dragon only to face with a flood of corrosive poison slams at his face. The shadow stands firm and unyielding but Jon could feel that his control is slipping. He cannot fully control the shadow to attack his foe, nor could he defend himself against the attack. He cannot move. He just tags along for a ride.

It is as if he is trapped inside his own body, even that body is of a dragon the size of Atarka herself.

_This is bad. Fucking bad. _Jon internally curses. _Fucking useless._

To make the matter worse, Jon feels that the shadow dragon that envelope him start to dissipate. For whatever reason, Jon doesn't like it. Not because it could mean an impending death, that is a given and as one of the Atarka he laughs at its face. No. It because he hates how he has no control over this power. For what is power without control. Nothing worth mentioning, that is.

…

Everyone was surprised when Jon summoned a black mist to protect himself and turned it into a black dragon. They were even more surprised when it ripped Kolaghan's dragon to shred in seconds. And their heart dropped when they saw that the mist was dissipating under the barrage of poison breath of Silumgar's dragon.

And then it happens. All shaman could feel it. Their connection to the land is drastically weaken, as if something that has a much stronger pull take all the available mana for itself. They cannot feel the mountains and forests. They cannot tap the mana source of Tarkir. They are vulnerable.

The black dragon is relentless. Not only its venom breath is unending, its fangs and claws are also ready to kill Jon when the opportunity presents itself. Seeing that its red counterpart was killed so easily, it could not be careless.

At the moment Jon's shadow dragon disappears, everyone hearts sink. No one had ever survived from the dragon breath. No matter how powerful one was, nothing short of another dragon could contend with its raw power. Even the greatest of the clan's warrior would need an external source of power to ever hope to contend with a normal dragon. Even worse, Jon stamina must be close to exhaust by now. The mana he needs to maintain the shadow dragon, or whatever magic that Jon used, must be immense. It was hard enough for an experienced warrior to maintain a runemark and activate a battle rage at the same time. And those two spells only cover the user's arm.

Being choke to death because you can't breathe, while your lungs is melting away as well as the rest of your body. If that was not one of the worse ways to die, they don't know what is.

…

The situation is so bad, Jon doesn't have enough time to think. He could barely think when the magic takes its toll on his mind. The backlash almost knocks him out cold. So, Jon does what he had to with the things he cannot control. He concedes and let that power go. He doesn't like it, but it has to be done.

Time slows into a crawl as the poison cloud rushes closer and closer. A single touch is all it needs to kill him. No matter how strong his flesh was. No matter how much power he could channel to enhance his defense. It will never be enough. His flesh is too weak.

Jon, in all his glory, abandons all the reason and follows his instinct. He let the wolf spirit guide his hand. It is a gamble, but what's more to lose?

*ROAR*

And out of his mouth comes an emerald burst of flame. No. A burning torrents of fire that burn away everything. **A Banefire**. Created by a last-ditch effort from channeling all the mana he could access in one last attack. Jon doesn't know the spell, at least not consciously. Well. Lucky him his wolf spirit seems to know something.

And the gamble works. Two attacks cancel each other out, but not for long. Jon's attack can only maintain for an instant. The black dragon's attack, however, can keep it up long before his death. He needs to seize this opportunity. It's his last chance to do something.

It's do or die.

The dragon, which got its attack interrupted by an emerald flame, goes for a bite. Its jaws open wide. Its teeth are a length of a long sword. The bite is no less deadly than the breath. Even one touch by its saliva is enough to cripple Jon.

Jon crouches low, palms down toward the ground. He calls upon everything that he could detect. The magic starts to well up in him, his blood burns and three colors of mana resonates with each other. The dragon's jaws come, and he dashes forward. The bladed tooth misses his head by a hair length.

The good thing was Jon didn't get rip to shreds by the dragon's teeth. The bad thing is that Jon is now inside the dragon's mouth and its wall are contracting. All seems lost, but one needs to remember that Jon is an Atarka. They just rode a lava a few moments ago. This shitty situation would not be different. Keeping the momentum going, Jon plants his back fist and throws a punch. One punch is all it takes.

_ONE PUNCH!_

The dragon's head explodes from within. The world stands still as blood rains from the sky. At that moment everything seems worthless to Jon. He stands still with his head up high. He stares blankly at the horizon. His mind is blank. The toll is real, and it is unforgiving. The price he has to pay is heavy.

All the observer could see was that the dragon is dead with its head smashed into the oblivion. They saw Jon, a small as he is, somehow coming out on top. They start to cheer when they saw him collapsed. Then the cheer is even louder.

_Laughing at the face of death indeed._

…

**Meanwhile in Winterfell**

It had been four years after Jon allegedly _'died'_. The Starks had not really recovered from that incident. Coupled with a mysterious 'White Wolf' incident that happened two years after, everyone in Winterfell is restless, especially those who once or still worship the seven. It didn't take long for stories to turned into rumor, and for a rumor to turned into legends and myths. And it was sure that four years was long enough to turn the myths into gospel truth for some of the most devout followers of the old gods. All that means the life of Catelyn Stark is a living hell. She lost the respect of her bannermen. She lost the trust of her followers. And from the whispers that she heard, she might even lose her position as the Lady of Winterfell. She could see it in the minor lords' eyes. Oh, how they despite her and her faith. They call her weak behind her back. They call her proper ladylike way of the south a corruption. All it takes is just one outspoken lord to shout it out loud, and the others would surly follow. Then, her heads would be on a spike or whatever these barbarian uses.

'_The North remembers. The Old Gods remembers.' _They say.

Her lord husband distanced himself from her since the day that bastard was gone. He always went to the family crypt alone. Well, sometimes he brought their children but never once he went with her. She, his lady wife that had birthed him five children, had become a little more than a stranger in his keep. He didn't attend her in the bed anymore. He didn't even come to the bed often. Instead, he locked himself inside his solar for the entire night doing gods know what. If her lord husband was any other man, she is sure that he must have hidden a mistress somewhere in the keep. But her husband is lord Eddard Stark, a man who put too much emphasis on the honor that any should have been. He, of all people, would not stoop so low to use the service of whores. But then again, Jon Snow was proof of his infidelity.

_Or is it? Ned never tells anyone about the boy's mother. No matter. He is already dead._

Catelyn once again approaches the crypt that her husband locks himself in. This time he takes three of their children with him: Robb, Sansa, and Arya. She doesn't know what got into him today or why does he take their oldest down there. All she could notice was that during breaking their fast, Ned and Robb didn't look happy. They clearly had something on their mind. Even her precious Sansa seemed tense. Then it dawns on her.

_Today is the day the bastard die and Ned takes their children down to pay respect. TO A BASTARD!_

That's the last straw that broke the horseback. Catelyn will tolerate this dishonor no longer. Her lord husband will stop this stupid action. Gods, she once thought Ned is different. She once thought that he, or all the Northerners, will understand the evilness of a bastard. Those tree worshipping fools seems not to care about them, but they are barbarians anyway. Her lord husband was fostered in Vale, he should have known better.

Catelyn goes down the crypt, ready to yell at her husband in front of their children if need be. She found four of them inside, paying respect in front of a lit candle. Her anger boils as she sees tears on her beautiful Sansa eyes. What has he done to her? Even from beyond the grave the bastard corrupts her family. She is about to yell when a strong wind blows from inside the crypt right against her face. The stone walls suddenly become hot. She struggles to stand, and it interrupts her family solemn vigil. They all look at her like something was wrong. It was like she is an outsider who intrudes on something very important.

Then she looks at the bastard statue. And the bastard's statue….The bastard's statue starts to leak a red sap from its eyes and mouth. The red liquid flows like a fountain … like an accursed weirwood tree. At that moment, Catelyn knows she is no longer welcome down here.

Catelyn screams in terror before her vision fades.

…

Jon finds himself awoken inside a very familiar place which he doesn't expect himself to be in. The air is warm as he was positioned near the hearth. This is not his own tent. It is not even Surrak's tent. It's Sakta's.

His entire body feels like it is tearing themselves apart. His shoulder muscle is possibly torn. He cannot feel his legs very well. His blood is likely drained. His mouth is dry. It is a terrible situation to be in. Even with superhuman regeneration granted to him by the wolf spirit, it doesn't lessen the pain. In fact, it is the only thing that keeps him alive at the moment. Any other man would already be dead trying to accomplish the same.

Then the memory hit him again. During the sudden spike in power, when his mind becomes that of a dragon, he felt invincible. He didn't know what had taken over him to channel black mana into that of a dragon and supplemented it with red and green. All he knows that when he did, he felt like he could do anything. And when he lost control, he was insensate like he had never before.

"Oh, you are awake. Took you long enough." Sakta's voice interrupts his train of thought. "Everyone else is celebrating. Your mother takes Surrak into his tent, again."

"Oh. That … good?" He replies. Sakta's words are very specific and Jon has not the slightest idea why she did it. He also has no idea what she wears fewer clothes than usual either. It counteracts the intend of lighting a hearth inside the tent. "What are two of them doing anyway?"

"You don't know?" Jon shakes his head. "Snow! How naïve are you!" Sakta laughs. That was not a question.

"Well. I can tell you that, but …" She lingers. "How about I show you instead."

Jon's eyes widen as he has no idea what Sakta is talking about. He shivers with anticipation. He had asked the same question from time to time, but they always told him he would know when he is older. Finally, he would likely know what the adult was talking about. It amazes him that Sakta knows about this thing, for she is only a few years older than he is. It makes him admire this older sister even more.

So, he nods.

"Well. Snow. Get naked." Sakta commands with a smirk. Her eyes are that of a predator.

_What. _

Jon remains unmoved. He doesn't understand. "Come again? What …"

"I SAID GET NAKED!" The voice is unrelenting. Jon is sure that the entire camp hears it. Jon wants to resist but she kicks him in the chest. She then jumps him so hard it knocks the wind out of his lungs.

Then one thing leads to another.

On the next morning, Jon cannot move. Everything hurts especially around his hips. He is even more drained than before. It is as if all the moisture got sucked out of him.

…

As soon as he got better, Jon runs as fast as he can to escape Sakta. It seems he was wrong. He once thought Sakta is different from other adults of the clan. He thought that he understands her. But it seems that she is as crazy as the others.

Why else she wants him to remove his protective clothing for? Clearly, it is one of her insidious torture he received from time to time. Bah, she doesn't even attempt to hide it. The weird wrestling that they do seems to hurt her as much as it hurt him. But, somehow, Jon doesn't understand why she feels to delight at it.

Hide and Seek. Lucky for him he is faster and knows the land well. He is the best hunter the clan ever had. It will not be hard to hide from a shaman like.

Jon is correct on that. Because the one that finds him is not Sakta but the Dragonlord Atarka herself. When she landed, the entire camp quakes.

"Well done young Snow. You are ready to meet Ugin. Come. He awaits you inside the dragon storm." Said Atarka in draconic. "I will let you climb on my back. Quickly. We must make haste."

Jon, knowing that he is better not to argue with the dragonlord, follows her command to the letter. He doesn't even have a chance to tell anyone from the clan. But they will understand him. The dragonlord's will cannot be denied after all.

The flight is short, in Jon's opinion. Considering Atarka herself is flying him there, he is not surprised. They cut through the cloud like it was nothing. There are no interruptions from other dragons. Nothing dares to be in their way. Jon is ecstatic as this is the first time he is flying voluntarily. It is magnificent. The feeling of razor winds against his face, the bone-chilling breeze against his hair, the sensational view below that he knows he will likely die if he falls down.

As the vortex draws near, Jon's blood boils hotter and hotter. Something inside is attracting him. The call is strong. Almost too strong. This Ugin must be powerful to reside in the storm of pure draconic energy.

Little did Jon knows that Ugin isn't inside that storm. All pieces in Atarka's plan is falling into place.

And the others are now too late to stop her. The new age of Tarkir is about to dawn. Age of dragonlords is about to be over. All hail Atarka.

…

**Custom Card of the Chapter**

**Card Name:** Savage Confrontation / Epic Punch

**Card Text:** Fuse (You may cast one or both halves of the card from your hand.)

**Rarity:** Uncommon

_**Savage Confrontation**_

**Manacost:** 1G

**Types:** Sorcery

**Card Text:** Target creature you control gets +2/+2 until end of turn and fights target creature you don't control.

**Epic Punch**

**Manacost:** 1G

**Types:** Sorcery

**Card Text:** Target creature you control deals damage equal to its power to target creature you don't control and gets +1/2 until end of turn.


	10. Chapter 10 The Strategist

**Chapter 10 The Strategist**

**I opened an Oko, Thief of Crowns in the prerelease and went full Simic and threw a solid Orzhov knight plan off. Then I went 0-3 by a much more aggressive deck. It turns out everyone decides to run Gingerbrute, which is an MVP common in my opinion.**

**Then I play a seal in Arena with WB knight and crush it with a 6-1 score. Then I draft 2 Gadwick, the Wizened. It was a fun time.**

**And No, this story will not go to Eldraine. The Royal Scions might make an appearance though, I am still considering it.**

…

**Reviews**

** : **Nice.

Yep.

**Ragnarshadow: **… (Lots of suggestions)

Thanks a lot for your suggestions. I already have a plan though.

**TianYi: **So, he (Jon) can't have kids?

Yes. It will be relevant afterward.

**Also, TianYi: **It'd be funny if he (Jon) claws Catelyn right there XD.

It might, but it will make a story too bland for my taste.

…

**Previously**

"**Well done young Snow. You are ready to meet Ugin. Come. He awaits you inside the dragon storm."**

…

The Dragon Storm. The most marvelous place in Tarkir. It is a power given life. Literally. Twenty-five thousand years or so it has existed. Created by an Elder dragon planeswalker Ugin since the dawn of history, its very existence defines the plane of Tarkir itself. The vortex sucks up the plane's mana, condenses it into elementals, shapes it into dragon form, and splats them out.

The Dragon Storm is the place where all dragons of Tarkir are born. The first five are the dragonlords. Atarka, Silumgar, Ojutai, Kolaghan, and Dromoka. Strongest of their kind, each dominates each corner of Tarkir's landscape. Their power is evenly matched. Only by trickery and outnumbered, one would be overpowered by the other. Still, when one about to falls and one about to rises, the others will intervene.

Five dragonlords, five clans, eternal wars. Perfectly balanced, as all things should be.

Not that the dragonlords like their status quo. They were created to rule, to dominate. The day they satisfied with their position is the day Tarkir ends. Schemes after schemes, they played their own game with different pawns and different alliances. Normally, when one goes too far for the other four to stop, Ugin will intervene. But Ugin has not been seen for thousands of years. Not since his deadly battle with his twin brother in the ages long past.

Ugin is not here anymore. The other four are distracted elsewhere. There are only her and her prize. Jon, the little human, did what he was told. He had awaked the elder dragon's power. The power that soon will be hers. Just a little more. Inside the vortex, the dragon power will overpower the man. Its very essence will tear him apart slowly piece by piece and will seek out a new host. Of course, she will be there and devour it all. She will be unstopped able. No one will ever hope to match her, not her siblings, not even Ugin.

Then, and only then will Tarkir become hers. Everywhere will be her hunting grounds. All shall either serve her or be her prey. She will be the **World Render**, starts with her siblings. Especially with Ojutai, that erudite prick will be the first to suffer her wrath.

The moment of her ascension is at hand. The human is still believed that she would take him to Ugin. He is not wrong, of course. Ugin is already dead and soon this Jon Snow will join him in the afterlife. Not that it matters to her. Once she is invincible, all those who question her will die a horrible death. All those that fail her standard will die a horrible death. All those that she deems too unworthy will die a horrible death. Only those that she deems worthy enough to be her food will die a quick death.

And then, if Ur-Dragon is kind, she might discover a secret of Tarkir. A secret of Ugin and the others of his kind. A secret of little snow and his she-wolf protector. If she knows how to travel to other planes like in the days of old, then her feast is just begun. Tarkir will be her appetizer, and the rest of the multiverse will be her main course.

If only she understands what the Eldrazi are.

…

Wrong. So wrong. There is an interruption in his plan. There is an interference with his grand design. Something wants to steal his birthright. A lesser dragon, an Ugin spawn, dares to claims his power as its own. This cannot stand. This will not stand.

His contingency plan works. The seed that he sows on a blackwater plane has finally provided a ripened fruit. One in a million chance for the diluted blood to gain a spark. Even less so for that spark to ignite. It had been countless lifetimes over and even more death and tragedy to make it finally happened. The key to his returning is here, but now it is about to be snatched away.

The vessel that is Jon Snow is too weak to resist the pull. It doesn't have enough time to grow. His influence over the host is not strong enough to completely control its decision. The bond is not yet deep enough for him to erase the human conscious from the body. It makes him an observer, not a player.

The would-be usurper is too strong to be dominated. She will take his power and uses it for her own purpose. He will not allow it. He is a puppeteer, never a puppet. A solution must be found. Risk must be taken. Vaevictis Asmadi must be awakened. Prematurely if need be.

He is the woe of the vanquished. It is his birthright, granted by the Ur-Dragon, to rule. When he awakes, the others hide. When he attacks, the others flee. When he lies …

When he lies … It becomes a truth until he reveals otherwise. The Serpent's Tongue few called him. The best lie he ever told was that he was a stupid rampaging brute. All those who ever believed that was already dead.

Jon Snow will not be any different. He will believe. He will obey. And when he is no longer useful, he will be discarded like the rest. It will not happen in a millennium or so, but it eventually will. No one denies Vaevictis Asmadi his due.

'_BOY!_' Jon hears a scream in draconic. '_Listen and OBEY!_' It was demanding and full of rage. It was not from Atarka, that's for sure.

"Who's there?" asked Jon. He looks around and sees nothing but wind and air. There is no one else here. "Do you hear that?"

"Stop this non-sense Snow. You will speak only when spoken to!" Annoyingly growled Atarka. "The vortex draws nears. You will meet with Ugin soon."

'_Don't answer the usurper. Only you can hear me, Human. You have been tricked. Ugin sleeps in the valley under you as he was for thousands of years. The usurper will betray you and take what is rightfully yours.' _The same voice warns him. '_The vortex will rend you apart. When you die, the power will go to the nearest viable host. We cannot allow it to happen._'

Jon listens in silence. He is not easily persuaded, especially the wolf spirit grants him an ability to detect lies by monitoring physical changes in his opponent. This is different. The voice is just that. A voice. There is no baseline. There is nothing to look for lies. Still, he has to admit he, like all the members of Atarka clan, had taken the dragon's word like gospel. It is a flaw that he still tries to get rid of.

_What if Atarka lies? What if it is the dragon plan all along? Is he a pawn in a game that he doesn't even know it is being played?_

More importantly, who is the voice that is warning him? And can he trust this voice? For the moment, Jon doesn't know.

'_Listen well and listen close, boy! I will not repeat myself. You are a conscious created by this mortal body. I am the power that hidden within it. We are one and the same. I am Vaevictis Asmadi and so are you. Only when we become one will we regain our birthright. When we do, everything will tremble before us._'

'_As of now, your body is too weak. We need more time, which we currently don't have. Challenging the usurper will kill us. Doing nothing will kill us. We are too close to the vortex to escape the plane. We need to beat the usurper at its own game._' The voice continues.

'_This is what you must do. When you are at the edge of the vortex you must feint a pain. You will unleash your power as wildly as possible. You must make sure it attracts the others that can challenge the usurper. They will grant us the time we need to wake Ugin from his slumber. Use the connection between Ugin and the vortex to find him. I will handle it from there._'

Jon listens closely as Atarka flies near the vortex. Yes, he is skeptic, but his instinct tells him to trust the voice. And the instinct has yet to betray him so far. The question "_Can I trust this stranger tales?_" rings in his mind. He always thought that '_having dragon blood_' is a metaphor that Atarka uses to describe his extraordinary talent. Only now does Jon realized how dumb he was. Everything starts to make sense.

The Targaryens claims that they have dragon blood in their veins. If he has dragon blood, it means that either he is a bastard conceived by Eddard Stark and a woman with a Targaryen blood but who? or Lord Stark is not his father.

Why he is raised a bastard? Why does he know nothing about his mother? The answers start to form in his mind. He might feel rage for all the lie he had been told all his life had he has time to spare.

_Fuck it!_ He cast aside his hesitation and doubt. _I will worry about it later_.

They said that when a Targaryen is born, the god toss a coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land. Today, Jon Snow, if that is his real name, toss a coin again. Either the plan works, and he lives, or the plan fails, and he dies. Or the Targaryen curse is stronger than he thought, and he is turning mad and hearing voices. Or some unknown entity is manipulating him for shits and giggles. There are so many possibilities, but only one truth that he has no idea of knowing.

So, it is not a coin at all. It is more like a twenty-sided die. May his roll be forever neutral.

…

As Atarka flies closer and closer to the dragon storm, Jon can feel the pull of the vortex. His dragon blood boils in anticipation. It wants to fly. It wants to burn. It wants to break free of his shell. All the more that confirms the thing that Vaevictis Asmadi told him. Whether he is also part of Vaevictis Asmadi or not, that is remained to be seen.

He already surrounds himself with lies, both of his own and others. There is nothing certain in his life anymore. Truth or lie, there is not much difference when you have no control.

When the pull becomes strong enough, he did as he was told. He fakes a scream in pain and twirl on the dragon's back. To make it even more believable, he hurt himself by channel his mana backward. Everything he learns not to do when he uses magic, he does the opposite.

Seeing that the little human is behaving weird, Atarka panics. Her intricate plan relies on the human to remain intact before reaching the eye of the storm. If he is broken at the edge, the power might leak out too much and she will not have enough to dominate the other four. Worse, if the others caught the remnant of her prize, it will make things more difficult. Still, from her estimation, the little man will never survive long enough to reach the epicenter of the storm.

Atarka doubles her speed. It will take only a minute before she reaches the edge. If she acts fast enough, she might still drain the majority of the human's power while they remain at the edge. It is risky, but it is the risk worth taking.

*ROAR* A thundering boom of draconic challenge echo the sky of Tarkir.

The entire plane stands still. The stupid human had done it! Jon Snow just challenged all the dragonlords while he was in pain. It must be unbearable that it destroys his mind. The massage was clear. '_You call yourself a dragonlord, but in fact, you are nothing but a toothless worm._ _I am Jon Snow. In the name of Atarka, I will kill you all._'

_Curses. This will complicate things. _Thought the dragon. The little human had turned mad. It would not be a problem if he didn't call the other four here by his challenge. She cannot even kill the man in anger for she needs him to be alive for the transmission of power.

If only Atarka knows she is outplayed. She would only be even more enraged.

…

The other will reach her soon. Atarka can feel it. Four other dragon lords are flying straight at her. She needs to do it now, or it will be too late. She does a barrel roll to shake the little human off her back. Falling, the little human wails in terror but his emotion matters little to Atarka. All she needs from him is his power.

The little man is swept up and kept aloof by the vortex's wind. He is thrown and blown away in the razor wind. Atarka moves quickly and catches him forcefully with her claws. She holds him tight and let his own power do the work. The pull is stronger when they are in the vortex proper. She could feel the power she desired leaking out to her. The process is slow, yes, but it is necessary. If too much essence burst out and she cannot swallow it all, then it would be a waste. And she would rather be damned before she would let the essence that is hers to seeps out to her siblings, however small that sliver might be.

*ROAR*

A red dragon, the dragonlord Kolaghan, cut through the storm at a blitzing speed. Thunder seems to dance around her. Her four feathery wings reflect the lightning as her webbed whiskers glow with power. There is no conversation. There is no word to be exchanged. They already exchange blows since they are a kilometer away. Flame versus lightning. Pure power against pure power. They dance around each other like they did many times before. It is a stalemate.

Until Atarka taps into her new source of power, Jon. The dance of the dragons is about to turn into a slaughter.

The **Storm's Fury** is wiped away when the emerald flame grows dark. The torrent of fire doubles its power in an instant and continue to intensify without any indication of slowing down. The blast hit Kolaghan right in her chest and engulfs her. The Red-Black dragon continues to burn, and it would be the death of her if she doesn't retreat at once.

Lucky for her, help comes in the form of a breath of winter. A white dragon with red remiges, the dragonlord Ojutai ascends from below. He opens his mouth and lets out a stream of frost to redirect the flame away. Redirect not extinguished. Even against the **Soul of Winter**, Atarka's fire is now too hot to cool down.

Not only the antlered dragon attack is enhanced, but her defense is also now impenetrable. While she can match attack to attack against two of her siblings head-on, she could ignore the threat of the other two who just arrive later. Black dragon, the dragonlord Silumgar, unleashes his acidic breath that can melt a mountain. His **Drifting Death** is so poisonous that when it hit the target, the land around it is also dead for hundreds of years. If it was Atarka before this, she would need to dodge it for she doesn't dare to face the consequence. But now, Atarka does nothing. The attack falls short against her hide, stopping a mere meter before her. The miasma around her body prevents her from being harm be it a mighty lightning strike, a freezing cone of cold, a noxious cloud of poison, or even a searing beam of light. Even when a bronze scaled dragon, the dragonlord Dromoka, unleashes her attack alongside her brother, the miasma stands strong. Instead, it is Atarka's claw that rends Dromoka's back, cleaving a huge chunk of unbreakable scale away from the body. The **Eternal** seems not to be eternal anymore.

As the battle rages on, Atarka continues to dominate her siblings. If the fight goes at the same pace, she would be the victor over the four of her sibling's corpses by the end of the day. But one moment of carelessness, when her attention lies elsewhere, is all it takes for her plan to fall apart. Because it is that moment when Jon makes a move. She only thought of him as her pawn. She thought him a weak pathetic human is defenseless against her will. He was an ant to her eyes, but it only takes an ant in the right place at the right time to ruin anyone's day.

…

The collection of hedrons in the valley below crack with newfound power as the entity within is rejuvenated. The spirit dragon was badly wound and had been asleep for thousands of years. But one burst of power redirected from the dragon storm heals him to nearly his prime. He might not have a power of the planeswalker of old anymore, but he is still an elder dragon. His 'Children' will obey him. He is yet to know what the five of his oldest do this time. They have never been getting along, but that is fine. Their conflict is necessary to keep Tarkir strong. However, the balance must be maintained or there will be no Tarkir left.

_**Your family will be the death of you if you are a dragon. A statement that holds true wherever you are in the multiverse.**_

And this time, he wonders who the cause of this familial calamity is. His first bet is on Atarka. She is the most compatible with Vaevictis Asmadi's power he sensed. How she gets the hand on it is a question he doesn't have time to answer right now.

Right now, he has to stop his 'Children' from destroying their home and all the life in it. Unlike him, they cannot leave. And if there is any planeswalker behind this mess, he will make sure they learn their lesson.

_You don't come to one's homeplane to make a mess and get away with it._

…

Atarka roars in triumphant as she overpowers the other four. Her siblings are badly beaten. Her power continues to grow. She can feel the essence of the elder dragon surges through her body. The power continues to drain from the little human as his body is falling apart. He will hold long enough for her to become invincible. She is pleased with the situation so much that she might exempt him from being her food afterward. A dried husk doesn't taste that good anyway.

And then the flow of the elder dragon essence stops. The power is being redirected elsewhere. It doesn't dissipate into nothingness. It doesn't go to her accursed siblings. It goes to ….

_No. Impossible!_

_*ROAR*_

The dragon storm starts to slow down. The vortex power wanes. Tarkir quakes as its owner arise again. The Shifting waste turns upon itself and swallows everything on top of it. Cori mountain has a sudden flash flood and drowns everything below it. Sagu jungle comes to life and attacks its denizens. The great steppes are having a thousands year worth of thunderstorm. Qal Sisma mountain burns with a volcanic flame.

Ugin has returned. And by returning the death toll of Tarkir denizen is in hundreds of thousands. It is a calamity for the clans, except for Atarka. They get uses to the mountain range being lit on fire when Jon angered Sakta during their training for years now.

Before Atarka or any of her siblings could react, they are flushed with a colorless flame. The flame is formless and there is no defense that can protect them against it. From below, **the Spirit Dragon** flies anew as the sky split apart for its master. Time seemingly stops at the five dragonlords is confronted by their father.

"What is the meaning of this?" The elder dragon doesn't look angry. He just disappoints. Even if this kind of behavior is to be expected when he creates the vortex.

"It's Atarka, father. She started it!" yelled Ojutai. "She did something to gain more power, and now she seeks to eliminate us and rule Tarkir alone."

"Shut it, Brother. I'm now powerful than any of you. If you have anyone to blame, blame yourself for being weak. Only the strong can rule Tarkir!" Snapped Atarka. Her eyes promise death. Even in the presence of Ugin, she shows neither respect nor relevance like she used to. She is too powerful to be doing it anymore.

"Your sister is right, Ojutai. The rule I set thousands of years before is clear. If you can take it, you can have it. You are Tarkir protector in my stead, how can any of you be weak? Only by challenging each other, you can get stronger." Said Ugin, much of the dismay of others. "But I don't remember that I allow then interference of other of my kind in this conflict. Atarka. Who or what is in the clutch of your claws?"

"You no longer have the right to demand anything from me anymore, old wyrm! I possess the power of an elder dragon." Atarka snapped back and unleashes her emerald flame. "Maybe I will take yours as well!"

Ugin could only sigh at her reply. Laws of the jungle it is then. He unleashes all the might he could muster. This confrontation needs to be quick, or the damage done to his plane will be even worse. Colorless flames collide with the emerald one. Their power is evenly matched, but Ugin has a trick up his non-existent sleeve. Tarkir is his. The dragon storm is his. He creates the dragonlord and he can destroy them just as easy.

"Among the powerhouse of the multiverse that I face, you are nothing, daughter. Don't let it over your head just because you gain a sliver of power beyond your comprehension." Said Ugin as he turns the dragon storm against his adversary.

The vortex itself siphon Atarka's newfound power out at a drastic pace. It only takes a blink of an eye for his colorless flame to overpower Atarka's emerald. Within a second, Atarka is defeated. "Now! Release your captive. Go back to your corner and think about what you have done!" He yells as he snatches almost unconscious Jon from Atarka clutches and sent her scramming back to her own territory. He then looks at the other four "You four as well. Don't even think that I don't consider that you will do the same if you have a chance. Begone!"

Only when the other four left does Ugin resumes the vortex and descends to his sanctuary. Only then does he speak to his captive. His calmed voice turns into that full of fury and rage. "Now, little human. Where is your master?"

…

**Custom Card of the Chapter**

**Card Name:** Family Gathering

**Mana Cost:** WUBRG

**Types: **Legendary Sorcery

**Card Text: **

Reveal the top ten cards of your library. For each color pair, choose a legendary card or a card with a convert mana cost of 4 or higher that's exactly those colors from among them. Put the chosen cards to the battlefield and the rest on the bottom of your library at any order.

**Flavor Text: **"Why does no one understand that I am trying to be the best father in the multiverse? I even prevent them from killing each other out of spite" – Said Ugin.

"Even a mediocre father would not have children who want to kill each other out of spite!" – Said Jon.

**Rarity: **Mythic Rare

…

**Yes, I make up the family dynamic of the dragon of Tarkir. It fit the theme of family for this story the best. And yes, he put the dragon lords on a timeout. **


	11. Chapter 11 The Mutable

**Chapter 11 The Mutable**

**Went 6-2 on a seal on MTGArena once with a Golgari value deck. My pool contains Feasting Troll King, Rankle, Wildborn Preserver and The Questing Beast. Turn out the deck can indeed build itself.**

**Sorry for a delay. I attended a Bangkok GP, and it take all my energy away for 3 days. Got a very bad pool for a main event. I tried a 2HG seal tournament and win it 3-0. And then I caught a fever and bedridden for a day. **

…

**Reviews/ Q&A**

**Ragnarshadow: **Atarka knows about her uncle? Because this and Emrakul destroy her dream like a thanos snap.

No, she doesn't. She only notices the power but doesn't know the truth behind it. Yes, Emrakul will destroy her. It is not even a competition.

**Reikson:** Nice 40k-TTS reference.

Yep.

**ThatOneGuyUpstairs:** About planeswalking.

I heard about that also, but I cannot find the source.

**ThatOneGuyUpstairs:** About werewolf breeding (I guess that is the correct word.)

In this story, they can't. In lore, well, there is nothing concrete. It states in the planeswalker guide to Innistrad that werewolves cannot procreate normally and the only way to increase their number is via the curse. Still, not all werewolves are a planeswalker. Then again, I doubt that WotC will have a story about Arlinn Kord traveling around having sex or getting pregnant anytime soon.

As for Jon, well anything goes. Maybe the power of an elder dragon can circumvent the curse, maybe not.

…

**Previously**

"**Don't let it over your head just because you gain a sliver of power beyond your comprehension."**

"**Now, little human. Where is your master?"**

…

Insensate. That's is one word that Ugin rarely used to describe the feeling he has. As one of the oldest planeswalker alive, he had seen a lot and experience a lot. For eons, he transverse the multiverse up until the point of his falls a few thousand years ago or so. He witnessed the horror of an Eldrazi, he participated in the apocalyptic war among his own kin, and he even debated the philosophy with the Equilorians. But nothing, NOTHING, has ever made him feel this angry.

RAGE.

Is this boy a minion of his evil twin? Or is he a pawn of some convoluted plan of his cousin? Or he is something entirely different?

AND WHY! FOR THE LOVE OF THE UR-DRAGON, WHERE DOES MAJORITY OF HIS POWER GOES?

CURIOUS.

How could a planeswalker be this young? Sure. A look can be deceiving, but why anyone wants to be in the body of a child? Their power would be limited, and any powerful individual will recognize them in an instant. No, the body is genuine. The boy doesn't even bother to hide his eyes.

What a multiverse he now lives in.

…

Jon Snow knows that he is in a rough situation. On one hand, he finally meets Ugin. On the other hand, Ugin is now angry with him from the thing Atarka had done. And from what he understands, Ugin is one of the oldest planeswalkers alive. Far older than Sorin Markov, who Jon stupidly bind himself into his service when he became of age. If anything goes, he might get squash right here in the dragon's claws, or worse burned with a colorless fire that can even defeat Atarka.

_Well. Shit._

"_Answer Ugin Nothing! He cannot know that we had returned, or he will destroy us. Tell him that your blood descends from mine and nothing more._" Vaevictis Asmadi's voice rings in Jon's head. It seems scared, which is understandable. He lost most of his power when Atarka uses him as a glorified power source. It will take a year if not decades for that power to return.

They need to bind their time. Retreat into a shadow. Put up an innocent front. And when the time is right, the dragon will overtake a man, as it should always be. The man, oblivious to the dragon's plan will make this easy.

"Well? I believe you still have ears and can still hear. Where is your master?" Ugin asks again. His voice is clear that it will not be the third time.

"Innistrad." Jon answered.

"Innistrad?" Ugin repeated. He doesn't seem convinced. "DO YOU TAKE ME FOR A FOOL! WHERE IS VAEVICTIS ASMADI?"

Before anything else could happen, a brown blur moves through the valley with incredible speed, as soon as it closes it **Become Immense** and slams the spirit dragon's left ribs, sending him to the valley's wall. When the dust settles, it reveals a figure of an angry Arlinn Kord with an intent to kill in her eyes. She is now triple her normal size with more than double her original strength.

"GET YOUR HAND AWAY FROM MY SON!" she shouted.

…

Even without transforming into a werewolf, Arlinn is still an accomplished wizard. She trained under the order of the gold night and even became an archmage. With the wolf spirit, it allows her to easily tap into green mana and uses it to further enhance her superhuman capabilities. But the aspect of her abilities is also somewhat different, instead of a rapid increase in strength like Jon does, she can increase her size and gain strength proportional to that size. While achieving a similar goal, her way is more suitable for fighting a large enemy, like this Elder Dragon before her.

Like Jon, she can dominate and controls wolves and other canines as easy as breathing. Too bad there are is none around, or she would give the dragon a thousand cut.

Arlinn height is now half of Ugin's. Her strength caught the dragon by surprise the last time. Now, when the confrontation is face to face, she requires more power in order to protect Jon. Unlike when Jon fought regent dragons, Ugin can follow them wherever they go. She needs to stop the old dragon right here and right now Or at least by them some time and hope that Sorin Markov will be responsible enough to clean this mess that he started by sending them here.

_**TITANIC GROWTH.**__**GIANT GROWTH.**_

The mother wolf doesn't wait for her opponent to recover before resuming her attacks. She knows how dangerous these pre-mending planeswalkers can be. Her fight with Sorin a few years back was more than enough to prove that experience matters in this combat, and she is short for thousands of years compared to them.

When the dragon starts to move, she kicks him in the face. The impact quakes the ground and loses some rockslides. Her muscle tensed as she crouches down and uppercuts her enemy in the chin. Had it been any other enemy, it would die right there. If it is any other dragon, its head would already explode. If it is a giant, its head would be detached and stuck on her fist by now. Too bad she is facing Ugin, one of the most powerful beings in the multiverse.

_**UNCAGED FURY.**_

Arlinn punches so hard it hurt her knuckle and it sends the elder dragon flying. The force from the impact breaks the sound barrier. It was a loud boom. But that is not enough. Not enough to knock out Ugin. Her eyes widened as she sees no real damage was done to the elder dragon.

_Shit!_

"JON!" She calls her son. "Call Sorin now. I will hold as long as I can."

Then, it comes out of nowhere. The dragon opens its mouth and Arlinn is sent flying with a bad burn on her skin. It was a formless and deadly attack. Had she not cloaked herself with mana to increase her size she would be ash already.

Unbeknown to Arlinn, she was on the receiving end of Ugin's signature **Ghostfire**. It is a colorless flame that is undetectable. The attack is formless and nigh-unpreventable. Only Ugin, who understand all five color of mana and ascend beyond it, could create a flame this potent.

Arlinn has lost before the fight is even begun.

…

"MOTHER!" Jon cries.

"_Don't do anything rash, Boy. We need to lay low. We need to go, Now!_" Vaevictis Asmadi's voice rings in his head.

_NO!_ Jon will not do that. He will not abandon his mother.

He concentrates on the mark that the ancient vampire left on him. It glows with a radiating black aura as pain surges through his body. The mark supposes to work one way, from the giver to the given. To revert the process, the price must be paid. And paid a heavy price Jon did.

As Jon is busy summoning his master, Ugin restraints Arlinn with draconic magic. The mana in the air manifest into corporeal form. They move at a blitzing speed at Arlinn and binds her. She tries to break free but every time her herculean strength burst the binding open, two more are taking its place.

A **Luminous Bond** is not so easily broken.

"Sorin." The elder dragon ponders. "And what does Sorin wants from disturbing the balance of my plane? Or is that a lie just to turn us against each other?"

The dragon question is met with silence. Arlinn still struggles to get rid of the binding.

"You will know soon enough, old wrym." She spat. "I know it is a mistake to come here. I can raise my boy alone without any help from one of you old bastards."

Jon feels for his mother, but he knows there nothing he could do to help. He cannot fight the spirit dragon head-on with his power alone. And the moment he uses his dragon's power, Vaevictis Asmadi will be discovered or that what he was told. He still doesn't sure that what the voice in his head telling is the truth. He had lied enough to be wary of one.

The only one in the multiverse, Jon believes he can trust is his mother, Arlinn Kord. But even so, the shewolf also keeps secret from him. For example, Jon still has no idea what Arlinn does with Surrak when they are alone. He is pretty sure it is not what Sakta showed him. He doesn't think that his mother can behave like that.

_Oh, you know nothing, Jon Snow._

Jon watches his mother stop resisting the binding and close her eyes. Within seconds, a **Ray of Revelation** shines from her body. It blasts through and dissolves the binding in an instant. Arlinn springs up and loosens her muscle. The burn doesn't bother her much. She had worse and gotten better from it. Still, the series of instant physical enhancement, casually known as _'pump spell', _she used when she attacks Ugin drains a lot of her stamina.

Arlinn stands defiant. She looks the dragon in the eyes without any sign of fear. Yes, it is just a stall for time, but that's not the point. She practices what she preaches, especially about not to show any sign of weakness. But something cannot be so easily hidden.

Jon brows twitch as he sees his mother heavily panting. She is tired, which means a lot for a woman who can fight for days. There is just too much difference between their power.

_He needs Sorin. And he needs him NOW._

Jon concentrates again and channels even more power into the mark. It burns him but he doesn't care. His mother is more important.

"You are powerful, child. I give you that. Such a potential so wasted by serving my twin brother." The dragon speaks. "I know you serve my brother. For that, I cannot let you live."

Jon's eyes turn over on itself as he sees the dragon open its mouth. "NOOOOOOOOOO!" He shouted as he calls forth all the available mana that he has access to. His skin burns bright with an overwhelming power that seeks to tear his body apart. Jon doesn't care, though, he just wants to save his mother.

The power is too much for his little body, for Ugin's sanctuary is the epicenter of Tarkir's leyline. The leyline was not originally there, but the presence of Ugin lying there for thousands of years makes it so.

*ROAR*

Firestorm gathers around Jon's face and bursts out against Ugin invisible flame. He aims just short of Ugin's mouth just to redirect the incoming attack from his mother. He doesn't sure whether it will really work, but that is the best he can do. Jon just hopes for the best.

_If mother dies, I die. At least we will not die alone. _He thought.

The nature of the invisible fire also makes it hard to observe the result. Lucky for him he doesn't need to. Over his head, from behind, a tendril of pure darkness surges out to supplement his flame. It corrupts everything it touches, his flame and Ugin's alike. Jon soon finds that his control over his fire wanes as the corruption grows stronger.

Then everything explodes in Ugin's face, stopping their little standoff. Jon senses tingle as he suddenly feels an un-nameable dread. It is like a million souls synchronously cry out in anguish as all their pain and sorrow floods his own consciousness.

"Oh my. What do we have here?" Asked Sorin "Ugin. Old friend. Care to explain why you are trying to kill my subjects?"

…

Sorin Markov does not have a good time when he was interrupted from his endless crusade to protect Innistrad from all threats. Two years ago, he _"enlisted"_ the help of a young planeswalker named Jon Snow to help protect his plane. The boy was so dedicated to the task he even "_willingly_" swore the oath to serve his cause till the end of his day. To help the boy grows into a full dragon he could be, he decided to send him to be fostered with Ugin in Tarkir. Sorin was sure that with his mother, Arlinn Kord, guidance the boy would be fine.

How wrong he was. Something had to fuck up every time he picks up a stray. _It happens once with Nahiri_. Now, he wonders what makes Jon so desperate to contact him using the mark. It must be desperate indeed to make one revert the spell of a Master-Slave contract binding just to call for help. He doesn't even know it could be done, and he is not even sure he should be impressed with his improvisation or angered with their incompetence.

_AND WHY THE FUCK DOES UGIN WANT TO KILL BOTH OF THEM!_

This kind of clusterfuck is the reason why Sorin doesn't care to make friends.

"What trickery is this?" Asked the dragon.

"There is no trick." Answered the vampire. "I send the boy here to learn how to be a dragon. Clearly, your teaching is inadequate. Either that, or he is a very bad student. So bad that he gets his mother involved fighting you."

The dragon went silent after Sorin's words fade. Ugin seems to have a lot to think about. If he doesn't have a headache after suddenly woken up, then he has it now.

"Or …." Added Sorin. "Your assessment is wrong and somehow, for the life of me I don't know why, think these two are your enemy." He pauses and observes. The clues are very subtle, but it is there. The vampire knows he hit the right spot when the dragon power fluctuates just enough to be noticed. "It seems you have become senile, old friend."

Had it been any other man, calling an elder dragon senile is a death wish. Only a few beings are exempt from a horrible death just because they are strong enough, Sorin Markov is one of them.

The dragon looks at a badly beaten mother and her exhausted son. To the vampire keen sense, his old friends regret his action. _Interesting._ He doesn't even know that Ugin is capable of feeling regret.

"I'm sorry little one. It seems my judgment is clouded." Said the dragon. "I have to admit. You two fight well. A few centuries more and you might prove to be trouble against even me."

…

"What the F…." Jon looks back at the ancient dragon. Sure, Sorin's appearance changes everything. The dragon listens to him, which is good, but he doesn't expect the complete change of a character.

"Jon!" Shouted his mother who is currently resting on his lap. "What did I tell you about swearing?"

"But mother!" Jon averts his eye from his mother's dagger-like stare.

"WHAT ARE WE?" Nothing, not even a near-death experience, will stop her from discipline her son.

"We are werewolf not swearwolf." Jon whines.

…

"Quite a lovely family doesn't it?" The vampire commented. "To think that you were about to commit an unspeakable crime of slaughtering them."

"Aye. A mistake in my judgment, I must admit. I just recently woke up from a thousand years long sleep." Answered the dragon. "My mind is not as clear as I hope it would be."

Ugin expands his wings and ascends to the sky. He circles the valley just to breath in fresh air and lands back at the same place.

"So that their mission then. To awaken me. Am I too lowly for the great Sorin Markov to come himself?"

"I don't even know you had been put asleep, old friend. What happened?" Sorin gestures the little werewolf and his mom to come to him. "No. I sent this little one here to learn from you. It seems he cannot even do that properly."

"But …." The boy protests.

"Save your excuse, Snow. Adults are talking."

Ugin bends down and scratches his chin. "Hmmm. It seems you two had been tricked by Atarka. Ha. I know that daughter of mine is no mere brute. Still, you shouldn't trust a dragon so easily. Our kind always looks out for our self-interest first."

Ugin extends his hand to Jon, who winces away like it was a danger. He couldn't be faulted though, He tried to kill them just a moment ago after all.

"I see why you think sending the boy to me is a good idea, old friend. His power is worrying indeed. If it fell into a wrong hand, it would prove a disaster." Ugin added. "So be it. I will train the boy."

A mixture of smiles and frowns dawn on the mother's and son's face. They are clearly confused, but they better learn to let bygones be bygones. "Anyway. How's Zendikar doing? Where is Nahiri?"

"Nahiri. That name again. Lord Sorin. Is she your wife?" Innocently asked Jon.

Sorin frowns. His hand tightly grips his sword handle. "Shut up Snow, the adults are talking."

"From the looks of it, she clearly is." Arlinn laughs.

"SHUT UP!"

…

**Custom Card of the Chapter**

**Card Name:** Ugin, the Recently Awoken

**Mana Cost: **4

**Types:** Legendary Creature – Elder Dragon

**Card Text:**

Flying, Indestructible

When Ugin, the Recently Awoken enters the battlefield, manifest the top card of your library.

T, 2WUBRG Transform Ugin, the recently awoken

**Flavor Text:** "But his dream is not as empty as his conscious seems to be."

**P/T: **5/4

**Rarity:** Mythic Rare

**Card Name:** Ugin, the Enlightened

**Types:** Legendary Planeswalker – Ugin

Card Text:

+2 Manifest the top card of your library.

-X Deal X damage to all colored enemy creatures and planeswalkers.

-X Destroy X Colored permanents.

**Loyalty:** 4

**Rarity:** Mythic Rare


	12. Chapter 12 The Ravager

**Chapter12 The Ravager**

**I think I pushed the boundary of rate T with the jokes in this chapter. And no, I don't think I cross the line.**

**Warning! the chapter contains a suggestive theme. A LOT OF IT.**

**Have fun!**

…

**Comments**

** : **Nice. Thx.

Thx.

…

**Previously**

"**Nahiri. That name again. Lord Sorin. Is she your wife?"**

"**Shut up Snow, the adults are talking."**

…

In the North, the legend of the weeping bastard had spread like a wildfire. It all starts with a rumor, as any good legend should. A Stark bastard of an unknown mother died when he was eight and got buried in the family crypt. Some say that the lady wife of lord Stark prayed to the Seven to kill the boy. Some say she poison him herself. Whatever the reason, everyone and their mother in the north now harbored a deep hatred for the southern faith more than ever. Even in White Habor, the only northern city that worships the Seven, the faith is on a shaken ground. It did not help that the Manderlys, one of the most faithful followers of the Seven in the North, started worshipping the Old Gods along with the Seven. Even as powerful houses as they are, all it takes is one man in the right place at the right time to destroy everything they had built. The fat lord Wyman knows it better to compromise and live than stays defiant and die.

Then it happened. The great white wolf came. Some say it was born from the dead bastard's vengeance. The other says it was sent by the Old Gods to right all the wrong. The white wolf burned the sept down and kill everyone with a seven-pointed star on their body.

The great white wolf has grey eyes as cold as the winter itself. Its strength is more than twenty men. It starts off as twice a full-grown man, of course. Then two grows into five, five into ten, and ten into twenty. The change is as natural as the development of a story goes. The wolf's other aspect changes as well. At first, it was some frighten septon knocking over an oil lamp, then it becomes the white wolf that lit the fire, ten in turns into a fire breathing wolf.

The white wolf soon became a symbol of the first men's vengeance. All the wrongs that had happened to them since the invasion of the Andals had been brought up. In the north, the white wolf gained a status of a minor god in its own right. The mountain men of vale started to leave a white wolf skull at the burnt down sept of the settlement they raided. House that claimed to be a descendant of the first men, such as the Blackwoods and the Daynes, now faced with a dilemma, follow the white wolf or call it blasphemy. The unseen consequence of the action would be dire, indeed. For if they accept the white wolf, they will be in direct conflict with the faith of the seven of their neighbors. But if they call it blasphemy, then they might need to face the Whitewolf itself when their time comes.

And who knows when does the white wolf will return. All they know, deep within their heart, is that one day it will and all wrong will be put right. Just as the old gods intended.

…

**Meanwhile in Tarkir**

*HOWL*

*ROAR*

*WHINE*

A loud thud echoes through the valley as a thirteen-year-old man is sent flying to the wall. His body is buried deep within a hard rock which is clear evidence of a monstrous force that had been inflicted on him. He shakes himself loose with no effort but a wounded pride.

"Why do you have to hit so hard, mother? Are we having a spar or are you trying to slowly kill me?" The young man kicks up his spear and catches it with ease. He twirls it around and goes back to his preferred Iron Gate stance.

"Stop whining, Jon. You are thirteen, a man grown. Your enemy will never go easy on you, so though up or go be a bitch somewhere else." His attacker also readies her much longer spear. She stares at him with a determination. "And no, you cannot do that either. No son of mine will be allowed to be a bitch!"

The Kord family. A collection of individuals that share the same abilities. That's it. A duo of two planeswalkers, one doesn't know how to be a mother and the other doesn't know how to be a son. How do both survive until now is easily understandable. The two belong to a group of powerful individuals that can access the plane's mana, can leave the plane at will, and always keep to themselves are likely the reason. How do they still function as a happy family, however, is a mystery of the multiverse.

They trade blows after blows as their spear crashes against one another. The mother is always at her peak performance and has plenty of stamina to back it up. The son, however, doesn't have that luxury. He is too inexperienced to utilize his gift to its maximum, and he still afraid of her mother. The latter proves to be his undoing, for his lack of confidence gives way to an opening that his mother is so eager to punish him.

Moving at superhuman speed, Arlinn Kord parries her son's parry in what she called a preemptive defense. Her boy is good, for a normal warrior, but not good enough for those who are gifted like them. His mind is still developing, and his thinking is too straightforward. Every time they fight, she always two moves or more ahead of him. He will learn, in time, and he will be beaten until he does.

She flicks her wrist to change the angle of her attack. What that should be a light jab to the head becomes a strike to the hand in an instant. To her joy, she doesn't catch Jon off guard. The boy let go of that hand and use the other to pivot his spear to counterattack as he dodges the incoming attack. It would work too if not for her anticipated kick on his chest that sent him flying. Again.

"Again!" She commands for what must be a hundred times. Her son willingly obeys. Good for him. Practice makes perfect after all. And Jon will have a lot of practice from her indeed.

…

All the while the mother is beating the living shit out of her son, the spirit dragon observes silently. They are lovely enough he supposed, but their martial training is disturbing his peace. He cursed his vampire friend that somehow talked him into taking these two in. The boy needs a guide, he said. You can guide him into your image, he said.

_This is not how a family should be. _Observed the spirit dragon. They just beat each other until one of them, it always the young Snow, surrenders. How will the boy learn anything? _A parent should set up an environment for their child to grow into._ Like his Tarkir, for example. The harsh land breeds a harsh inhabitant. His five children are vying for supremacy and grows strong in the process. That is how a parent should raise their child.

The only thing Ugin needs to figure out is how to stop them from killing each other and work together as one.

"Mortal children…" Ugin sighs. Guiding these hopeless two will be very hard work indeed. At least they can live for centuries. He still has time to correct their flaws.

Maybe a mortal perspective is required to, as the human love to say, speed things up.

…

Time flies when everything falls into a routine. Jon's training is getting more and more intense.

*ROAR*

*ROAR*

Explosions after explosions rock the barren wasteland just outside Ugin's sanctum. Spear clashes with spears as its wielder tries to outmaneuver each other. One of them is Jon Snow. The other is a shirtless man with beautiful long black hair. On his face is a magnificent manly beard. On his chest is a scaled tattoo. In his hand is a barbed spear with a broken tip. Some might think that his weapon of choice would be a disadvantage for him when facing Jon Snow. The result, however, is a complete opposite. The broken spear is fast, much faster than Arlinn's attack. His raw power is lesser than that of Arlinn, but his speed is twice as fast. Also, he could breathe fire so Jon cannot even catch him off guard, not when his opponent can counter him at his own game.

Jon finds himself losing control of the battle since the first moment of their spear clashed. Sure, he has enough strength to finish the fight if he landed the hit. His opponent is not his mother, so he doesn't fear to hold back. He can tap into Tarkir's plentiful mana and end the fight with one swing. His full might can fall a mighty regent dragon, his opponent is nothing.

If only he could land a good hit. Too bad he is sparing with Sarkhan Vol, the man, the myth, the legend himself.

"You are too slow, brat. Speed always beat strength." Vol parries Jon's attack with ease and capitalizes on the gap in his defense to cut him in the face with a broken blade. It is a minor wound that would be completely healed within a day or so, but it hurts his pride.

Jon uses his pain to fuel his rage, increasing his power behind his strike. Still, it is too slow an attack against Vol. His mighty attack is redirected with little effort by his opponent. Every time, it misses its target just by a hair width, but that hair width is enough opening for his opponent to punish his falling.

Vol dodges a jab that aims for his head. He dugs low and dodges another head swipe and twirls his spear behind his back to parry another strike. Still laying low, he launches his broken spear at Jon's face, forcing his opponent to be on defense. Simultaneously, his hand shifts into that of a black dragon head. Dragon fire spews out of its razor jaws. It burns bright like a guiding star. It sears Jon's skin and disintegrates his cloth.

"Hey. That's cheating!" Jon screams even though he is unfazed by the fire. It doesn't harm him, but it distracts him enough.

"Your enemy will not fight fair, brat. You rely too much on your strength. You will not survive the fight against a faster and more cunning enemy." Using the distraction that he caused, Vol slams the butt of his spear at Jon's chest and swing a wide arc to cut across his chest. The wound is deep but not fatal. Nothing that he cannot heal from anyway.

"Use your strength to exploit your enemy weakness. Hit them hard. Hit them fast. Take what you need and leave. That's the creed of the Mardu Horde." Vol unarms him with a precise strike at his wrist. He then cut Jon in the thigh, making the boy falls to his knee.

"A true warrior will not reveal all his tricks at once. You lost is guaranteed when you do." Vol kicks him in the chin then slams his heel on the top of his head. It knocks the young pup out cold.

The training session has come to an end with Jon being unconscious. It seems harsh for a young man to experience this torture, but it has become Jon's routine for the past few months. Ever since Ugin takes another two planeswalkers under his wings, every day is so eventful in the Sanctum of the Spirit Dragon.

…

"Do you need to be that rough, Vol? I mean his mother is right there, watching us spar with her son." Asked a woman in blue. She sits on a stone bench. She had been observing the fight since it starts, and her analytical mind had already formed a plan on how to guide the boy along his path.

"You don't have any right to say anything, Narset. Your **Deflecting Palm** shattered his arm in the last spar, remember? Moreover, Arlinn asks us to not hold anything back. Who are we to argue with a mother on how to raise her son? The brat does absorb lessons like a sponge. He is improving but he needs to sharpen his mind." Vol sits down beside the woman. He is panting and sweating profusely. "You should worry about yourself. Tomorrow is your turn with the brat. Just don't break him too much. Ugin said it will stunt his growth if his bone is broken too often."

Ever since two of them had taken the Spirit Dragon offer, their life had never been the same. The mother and the son are weird. Vol is also weird in his own way. They are friends but not really. When you add Arlinn to the mix, all conventional relationships break down.

"My. My. Aren't you two a cute couple." Arlinn silently emerges for their behind. "So. How does Jon do today? He seems faster but you still going circle around him."

"He got a speed alright. It's his mind that needs improving. We need to work on that." Commented Vol. "Give him a few years and we might need to team up against him."

"Oh. Good then. Speak about teaming up. I'm sure our lovely Narset can show you a trick that I taught her." Arlinn playfully tugs at Vol beard.

Narset blushes red while Vol's becomes pale as he realized what Arlinn has in store. The shewolf has already sunk her fangs in their flesh, and there is no way they can escape.

"What about the brat?" Vol points at unconscious Jon.

"Nah. Leave him. Let the old dragon sort that out." Arlinn reaches over and grab Narset by the hip and drags Vol along by his beard. "It's not liked his place will have any visitor"

…

Unbeknown to the three planeswalkers, Ugin does observe the situation in his sanctum. Delegating the physical training of the boy to the three of them is one of the best decisions he had in a while. The boy needs to be strong, in a physical sense, before he can attempt to tap into Vaevictis Asmadi power. Atarka is a solid proof that his cousin's power is very dangerous had it fallen into wrong hands. And in this wild and untamed multiverse, a power of this caliber will always fall into a wrong hand. Those who doesn't desire power doen't live long as a planeswalker, after all.

A few more years then he can properly train the boy to use his potential responsibly. For now, he only limits his involvement in teaching young Snow about the prominent planes. It will prove useful when the boy realizes the true potential and uses the knowledge for good. If the boy chooses otherwise, then he will destroy Snow himself, shattering his soul and wipe all the memory of him from the face of the multiverse. He will not risk another elder dragon on the loose.

Still there is much more immediate thing that bothering him. Something concerning three fully grown planeswalker who treat his home as their playground. It is not that he is grateful that he was saved by Sarkhan Vol thousands of years ago, but the three of them don't give his place the respect it deserved. They joked around and sometime takes off their cloth and pushing their bodies against each other.

Sex. Ugin believes it is called. A wasteful ritual for procreation for humans. Why can't everything just spawn from an elemental vortex as his children did is beyond him. He doesn't have anything against the activity, but the way it is happening is ineffective and unoptimized. Vol sometimes doesn't finish it properly inside. It was not like Vol doesn't know how it's done, but he does it anyway. But even when he does, it would not be that effective. Their body, even though are still human, are too different. The ignition of the spark alone was a hindrance enough for any planeswalker to have child. Coupled with Vol's dragon blood, Arlinn's wolf spirit, and Narset constant consumption of medicine, their chance of having a child is almost zero.

"Mortal Children." Ugin sighs. They always do things the hard way and never listen to their elders. Not that he wants to be involved in this meaningless activity of theirs. At least young Jon Snow is not involved.

It would interrupt his training time, and Ugin would not allow that.

…

Time seems to fly when everything is in order. The life of Jon Snow is no different. Before he realized it, many more months have passed. He is now a fine young man with a body to die for. His height is just shy of six feet. His muscle is like it was a god statue on Theros. His Stark and Targaryen feature is enhanced to the extreme. With access to the plane mana, he is akin to a deity walking among mortals. Had he not lived among those who are similar to him, he would be worshiped by now.

Jon wakes up early for today is his nameday. Probably anyway. He is turning ten and four today and his family promises him something special. Family. A word he doesn't think that he really knows the meaning when he was the Bastard of Winterfell. Sure, there was Robb and Sansa and Eddard Stark, who he now doubted is his father, but he never felt he was loved as much as of now.

In Innistrad, he met his mother and by extension lord Sorin, and also sweet and fierce Thalia. In Tarkir, he met Surrak, Sakta, and the Atarka clan of which he didn't see for about a year now. He is not sure that it would be saved for him to ever return to the clan considering that Atarka tried to use him as a glorified power source. After he moved in with Ugin he met uncle Vol and aunt Narset.

Who would have taught that a collection of five planeswalkers would result in a family like this? An unorthodox dysfunctional family, but a family nonetheless.

_*Cough* *Cough* Suck that Gatewatch *Cough* *Cough*_

He breaks his fast in the dining hall. It was a collective effort among four of them to make one portion of the cave into a cozy habitable area for humans. Ugin had played a good host and provide them with a spirit construct for labor work. They carved a mighty hall of stone out of the sanctum wall. This is not Winterfell where the wall is heated up by natural spring. This is not Ulwenvald where the den is eternally in the shade and everything is out to kill them. This is not Atarka land where dragons are looming over your head. Well, there is always one dragon looming over their head here, but then again that dragon is Ugin.

The spirit dragon is so ancient he only sees a big picture and become detached all the little things. His action must have a purpose, which means he will never understand rest and recuperation. Jon also suspects that Ugin has no idea how human works, but he tries not to think about it. Thinking something too loud and the old wrym will pick it up from your surface thought.

Jon happily sits on his usual spot of the dining table. The spirit construct brings his food to his table right at the moment he sits down. It is very convenient, he had to admit. It's good to know a neigh-omnipotent ruler of the entire plane. This would be a paradise had he not receive a routine beating during day to day spar.

"Happy birthday Jon!" His mother emerges from shadow. "Do you sleep well last night?"

"I do mother. Where is uncle Vol and aunt Narset? I thought they told me they going to be here in the morning." Asked Jon as he digs in the food in front of him.

"Ugin sent them on some mission in Zendikar. I believe it something to do with an Eldrazi prison. Don't worry, they will probably be back before you know it." Arlinn brings up a wrapped gift in the shape of a long pole. It takes Jon no time to know it is a spear. "Anyway. Vol, Narset, and I decide to get you a present. We called in a lot of favor to have it made."

Jon unwraps the gift as soon as his mother hands it to him. It is an all-metal spear of Innistrad design. Two meters in length, it is magnificent. Furthermore, it is made wholly from a metal unknown to him. If he has to guess, it some alloy of etherium from Esper and darksteel from Mirrodin. If how to acquire the material is a mystery enough, how does it made is even more enigmatic. A metalwork that length would be a nightmare to make for any smiths, let alone those who had experiences working with two different metal from two different planes.

Considering that Mirrodin is now New Phyraxia, he wonders what kind of favors do the three have to call to have the spear made.

"Wow." That's all Jon could say. He feels like he is dreaming. He never had a present before, not even when he lives with Arlinn in Ulvenwald. It is not a surprise though, considering they were literally living under a rock. Atarka clansmen are a practical lot and there is no tradition of gift-giving. They firmly believe that if one wants anything one should at least fight for it.

_It's just too good to be true._

_He can't take his eyes off this cue._

_It is a heaven too touch._

_He loves this spear very much._

"Jon!" His mother's voice breaks his sweet daydream. "We have a company."

He looks up just to see Sorin staring right into his soul. Behind the vampire is an elder dragon looking at him curiously as if he was analysis his response to the foreign object.

"Lord Sorin. Lord Ugin." Jon bows.

"Snow." Sorin replied. "That's a magnificent spear. It must have cost a fortune."

Jon looks at his mother and finds that she is smiling with pride. The way she does it makes him start to doubt whether he is worthy of such a gift.

"Anyway. I have a job for both of you. Something is going on in Innistard that I want two of you to check. There is a visitor, a necromancer that overstayed her welcome. Track her down and find out what she wants. Find out her motive. Keep her alive if able, but don't hesitate to kill if you need to." Commanded the vampire. As soon as he finishes, he planeswalkes away.

…

**Custom Card of the Chapter**

**Card Name:** Brutal Training

**Mana Cost:** {W/U}{U/B}{B/R}{R/G}

**Types:** Enchantment

**Card Text: **

Tap target creature: Put three +1/+1 counter on that creature. That creature doesn't untap during its controller's next untap step. Activate this ability only once during your turn.

**Flavor Text:**

"Hurt. Agony. Pain. Love it!"

**Rarity:** Rare


	13. Chapter 13 The Ruiner

**Chapter 13 The Ruiner**

**The mother and son duo are back on Innistrad. This arc timeline will match the original Innistrad block.**

**The adult joke is continued from the previous chapter. There is nothing graphic, but it might make some readers uncomfortable. Consider this a warning.**

**I need to remind you that this story is humor/hurt & comfort. While it will follow the canon stories, it will be bonkers. But then again, this arc takes place on Innistrad. So, prepare for a dark story. Darker than War of the Spark Novel, that's for sure.**

…

**Reviews/ Q&A**

** : **I hope we see more wolf in Westeros soon.

Not this arc, but you might see in the next one. Jon might bring someone home, who knows?

**ThatOneGuysUpstair: **Hmm, a necromancer, female, on Innistrad, and Sorin is worried about it, well I can only see good resulting from all this, and certainly no Lovecraftian monsters being unleashed on a world because of something a certain Vampire did to get out of dealing with his girlfriend after he stood her up when she needs help with some infestation problems resulting in her being driven insane.

Trouble in _not_ paradise, if I say so myself.

**Ragnarshadow: **Jaja Nahiri is your wife lord Sorin, in the future, you have marriage problems lord Sorin?

Who says it is not already started?

**Ragnarshadow:** Ugin doesn't understand sex …

What do you expect from an elder dragon who can spawn "children" by messing with a plane's mana? It's more efficient.

Also, **Ragnarshadow:** In the future, if Jon or Arlinn want a child they use the Ugin's tactic or continue with sex?

No. Jon and Arlinn don't have skill or knowledge to do it. Arlinn will never want to get pregnant, she just wants a child to dotes on but not the burden. When I write the character, I channel "Mum" aka. "Goddess of all creation" from Lucifer tv series. For Jon, well, I don't decide yet but not likely. There is much more than having a child in a companionship.

…

**Ulvenwald, Innistrad**

Innistrad doesn't change much since he left for Tarkir. Everything is still trying to kill you like always. Jon breaths in a foul air full of evil and smiles. The landscape in front of him is bleak and morbid. The edge of Ulvenwald never change, and it never will. The road lacks repair. The wood of the signpost is rotten. Even the tree is corrupted. Everything on this plane is saturated with black mana. He then remembers something that Ugin taught him. It seems that the soul of the plane while keeping the five mana of the plane in balance, favors heavily on black.

It is hideous.

It is horrible.

It is home.

"I miss this place." Jon stretches his limbs and lets the damp air of the forest soothes his skin. "Somehow."

His mother smirks behind him. She gently strokes his hair. "There is no place like home, Jon. Even our home is a murderous dark forest that kills all its intruder and sometimes its inhabitant."

In Winterfell, he was a bastard. He was shunned because of his mere existence.

In Atarka land, he was a hunter. He was a prodigy, the pride of the clan. Many things are expected of him. Serving Atarka is one, and how did that turn out? He was used as a glorified power source for her conquest.

In Ugin's Sanctum, he was among his kin: Planeswalkers. There he was trained to survive the multiverse. He was taught about the culture of the important planes, how to blend in, how to fight and think like a planeswalker. He honed his martial prowess by his extended family.

Family. The one that is not bound by blood, but by their choosing. It's now him, his mother, his uncle, his aunt, and sometimes Ugin and Sorin too if the planes aligned, against the entire multiverse. Jon knows that whatever the problem he will face in the future, he will not have to do it alone. His family will have his back, always, anywhere, anytime.

Still, Tarkir is not home. His home is here, in Innistrad. Some says that home is where the heart is which he thinks is foolish. His heart is right in his chest. He also doesn't understand the notion of giving away his heart to a girl. His aunt Narset once spoke about it and it confused him. Why should he give his heart away, he needs it? How could he even survive without a heart?

And why should he give it away to a girl? Henrietta was a silly girl who will fall victim to the predator of Innistrad anyway had lord Sorin didn't kill her and everyone in the village. Sakta. Well, Sakta was his friend and teacher. She also like to beat the living shit out of him at all opportunity. Their weird night together after his fight with two regent dragons is confusing, to say the least. It seems she was hurt but somehow she enjoyed it. Girls are weird.

Then there was Thalia. She is … in every way his equal. She was even a better fighter, in fact, before his leave for Tarkir. Now? He is not so sure. His power grows immensely, and his technique had been honed by three of the best fighters in the multiverse. Thalia was sweet too, he admits. Their kisses were a burning sensation like a blazing flame on a stormy night. But that might be attributed to the fact they were, and still are, technically enemy when he thought about it.

The old gods help him when his lies got revealed to her. She would hunt him down to the end of Innistrad. Be that as it may, he seems to always have her in his mind. It even occurs much more regularly now that he returned to the place where it all begins.

"Or …" His mother added. "You miss someone. A young cathar, perhaps. What's her name again? Thalia?"

Jon becomes stiffed. His shoulder subtly jerked, but that is all Arlinn needs to know she was right.

"You are playing a dangerous game, Jon. You know what she would do if she knows the truth. You know what I will do if she tries." Her words are as sharp as bitter steel. There is nothing Arlinn would not do to protect her son. "Unless …" She pauses. "You seduce her so good she abandons her faith for you."

"What!" Jon becomes pale. Seduction is supposed to be for cowards. Only reserved for a temptress who doesn't prefer to fight head-on. "Seduction?"

"Well. What did you think I have you do? Getting close to a girl. Try stealing a kiss from them. Gather information that is beneficial to us." She reaches for his chin and tilts it up. "You are turning into a fine warrior, Jon. But a battle doesn't always fight with the strength of arm."

"Most fights don't win by this." She flexes her bicep.

"But this." She points at her head. "Outmaneuver your foes. Always know your strength and weakness as well as that of your enemy and you will never suffer defeat. And a company of a young athletic girl is not a bad thing for you, Jon. You are of that age to … you know … start doing that anyway."

"Doing what mother?" Jon jerks backward.

"You know. Sex." Nonchalantly answered Arlinn. "Don't tell me you don't know what it is."

"Well. You never taught me." Jon replied. He doesn't like that smile on his mother's face after she heard his answer. Not one bit. "But I have some ideas."

"I thought Sakta already taught you the night you fell the dragons." She scratches her chin. "Did the two of you did something wrong?"

"She took off her clothes and then she took mine off…" Jon slowly recalls the faithful night. "and then …" He paused. What did they do, exactly?

"Go on …" His mother ensures him to continue.

"She got on top of me and started moving. She did it faster and harder as time went by. Sometimes she grunted in pain, sometimes she just moned." Jon stops again as he gets more and more uncomfortable explaining.

"And then?" His mother presses on.

"Then I didn't remember much. I passed out and woke up in her embrace. She seemed happy ... like satisfying happy, not I am about to drop a mountain on your head happy."

"You passed out? I thought our kind have more stamina than that." His mother expresses concern. The wolf spirit should allow a healthy boy like Jon goes on an entire night. Of course, Jon doesn't know this. Arlinn wonders that her son's draconic heritage and the wolf spirit are interfering with one another. That's might be why he had so much uncontrollable rage when he was transformed. Not that it bothers her. Jon is her son. End of the story.

But if Jon is a two-pump chump and a crier then it might sully her brand.

"I fought two regent dragons, mother. Of course, I was tired. How did it suppose to go exactly! And why did it matter so much?"

_Nevermind. _It seems she was mistaken. That was a reasonable explanation.

"Oh." His mother smiles. "I see. It seems I had been a bad mother and didn't prepare you for that aspect of your life. Well. That can be corrected."

…

**Meanwhile in Thraben**

Life has been going well for Thalia. She graduated as the youngest inquisitor ever. She was handpicked to join the Lunarch's elite guard by the Guardian of Thraben himself right after she graduated. Her blade skills are unmatched even among her peers in the elite guard. She had raised high for a no-name orphan of the church. She started from nothing, only to be trained and expected to die for the church's cause. Now? Now she is the rising star of Avacyn's inquisition. She has fame and power. Her voice can command men twice her age. Her opinion is highly regarded. Even the ground she walked on is worshiped by some of the small folk she saved.

And suitors. Yes. A lot of suitors. Many want to have her hand in marriage, even though she is barely a woman. She is sixteen this year, an adult to some but a child to most. It is nice to have men profess their love for her, praising her martial prowess, and sometimes lie down on a dirty floor so that she will not dirty her boot. She doesn't think much of those men. They all sought her for her either her beauty or her reputation. They want her to be a prize to be shown or used her to better their position.

That, and she is waiting for him. A boy that is even younger than her who she met during her training years. A boy with a peculiar name: Jon Snow. His skill was no lesser than hers, even she always insisted that she was better. A boy who rushed in headfirst to save her from vampires and didn't ask any boon in return. The boy who sees her as herself but insists on addressing her as Lady Thalia just to annoy her.

She can name many more happy memories of him during the short time they spent together. Even though she is unwilling to admit, he was her first love. He has engraved himself deep in her heart.

And she couldn't wait to meet him again. She prayed to Avacyn day and night for a chance to meet him again. She was sure that she is the one!

.

.

.

The one she will skin and turn into a rug! Lying bastard.

Sure, she bought his story like a lovesick child. A child traveling with a mother, who is an excommunicated archmage of Goldnight, ridding Innistrad of evil. Everything matches up perfectly. It explains his skill and knowledge, and why they cannot remain in the same place for long. That's why she believed him for such a long time. Well. Until she met an old archmage Rembert.

It was then she knew why Arlinn Kord is excommunicated. The bitch is a werewolf. Which means, Jon is probably one too. The thought was alarming, a werewolf that young was unheard of.

Indeed, he might not know who Arlinn Kord truly is and is innocent. But innocence doesn't last long here in Innistrad. Besides, she is Avacyn's inquisitor. It is better to let a hundred innocent die than let one corrupt soul live.

She knows she must hunt him down. If only she knows where he is. He, along with his mother, seemed to disappear from the surface of Innistrad after their departure all those years ago.

If she just had been lied to, she would not be this angry. It was a fair game of reconnaissance. But no, this grudge is personal. She kisses him and he let her …. He let her fell in love with him. This is heresy at the highest degree! Maybe it is not equal to emptying the Helvault but it is very close, at least for her.

Well, maybe one last kiss before she plunges her sword into his heart might not be so bad. Or maybe she will try to tame the wolf. Thalia smiles at her naughty thought.

_No! that is heresy_. She caught herself and cut her hand. The pain will cleanse her mind of sins. If it doesn't then the fire will.

But why does she feel so right in thinking about it?

…

Back to Ulwenwald, A mother is teaching her son all about sex. In the most inappropriate conversation humanly possible. The talk lasts for more than two hours and it seems there is no end anytime soon.

" …. In short. Sex is a way for human and many animals procreate. Not us though, the wolf spirit inside us makes sure that the pregnancy will never happen. Even if not for the wolf spirit, the planeswalker spark inside us will reduce the chance of conception to almost zero. It is not so bad, though. As an incentive to procreate and continue the survival of species, sex, by in nature, is fun if you do it the right way. Now, let's cover the technical part." Arlinn Kord smiles with glee.

The thought of describing everything she had done to him somehow feels wrong. Jon is her son and it might be inappropriate for him to know about how she behaved in the sheet. She would agree if she knows how to mother.

The thing is she doesn't but acts as if she does. This action leads to many interesting family moments to come.

But the rule is universal, and it is commonsense enough. Don't have sex with your son because that is incest, and it is a grave sin. The child will even be born weak, all the recessive trait will be enhanced, given that the union is repeated over many generations. Or so they say, Arlinn is not an academic, she just once bed one.

Even she knows she cannot get pregnant from it; it still feels wrong to do so.

"Wait a minute!" Jon interjects. "Is that what you do with Surrak all the time you two are alone? That's what Sakta wants to show me?" Jon frowns. "Does this mean Surrak is my dad now?"

Arlinn laughs. It is a wholeheartedly laugh that makes Jon wonders what is so funny about his question.

"No." She continues to laugh so hard a drop of tear leaks from her eyes. "No. Just, no. Oh, Jon. You are silly. It doesn't work like that."

"But you said that sex is a way to make babies. Parents love each other, mother. Well, most of them are." Jon looks down when he thinks about himself. He is sad.

"That is the most ridiculous thing I ever heard today Jon. That is a constraint created by a group of people to limit your behavior. Sometimes, Sex is caused by love. Sometimes it just meaningless fun. For me, it always the latter. You don't need to think much about it." She pats his shoulder. "Life always gives you choices, Jon. The choices are yours and yours alone, so do the consequences. The best you can do is to choose wisely and live with no regret."

Jon can feel the wisdom the emanates from his mother's words. _She is wise. I want to be like her._ He thought.

"Now, I will tell you all about the technique to pleasure your woman. We must make sure that your performance is up to standard. That Thalia girl better not be disappointed." She places another hand on another shoulder.

Jon is getting more and more embarrassed as his mother speaks. When the name is mentioned, he decides that it is the

_Well, maybe not in that aspect._

"NOOOOOO!" He screams and plugs his ears. It doesn't block out the sound, though, his super-hearing is just too good. "This topic of discussion has to end. NOW."

Arlinn's smile grows even larger. Her boy is so innocent, but he will not be innocent long. She will see to it.

"Well, then. I will have Vol show it to you then next time we get together. I'm sure Narset will be happy to let you …."

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA." Jon screams even louder to block out his mother embarrassing suggestion.

Any other mother would stop herself from embarrassing her son. Unfortunately for Jon, Arlinn is not a most mother.

_**The Arlinn train had no break. **_

…

Inside the shadow of Thraben lurks a necromancer like no other on Innistrad. This one is powerful. This one in ancient and terrifying. This one is over a hundred years old and doesn't even age beyond twenty-five.

And her name is Liliana Vess. Born on Dominaria, ignited before the mending, she too lost most of her power and sought to reclaim it. She didn't just make a deal with a demon, she made deals with four demons and an elder dragon.

One of those demons, Kothophed, was already dead. Blasted into oblivion by her very hands. Fools of them that they are so sure she will honor their bargain and let her soul be damned. Fools of them to let her gain the power of the Chain Veil. Fools of them to leave a loophole of a contract. They cannot collect her soul when they are not alive to collect it.

One down, three remains. Soon, it will become two. If only she could find Griselbrand. The demon seems to vanish from Innistrand, but the connection still lingers. She is sure the damned demon is still alive.

She had been here on Innistrad for more than three moons now. She likes the air here. It reeks of death. The plane seems to accept her and her magic readily. Her power grows every moment she remains here. And there is so much flesh to raise. So many necromancers to blame her crime on.

Her "digging' leads her to a city called Thraben. It seems that all then dangerous demon on Innistrad seems to disappear after the place called Helvault is established thousands of years ago. The recorded is dated and very sanctified, but that couldn't stop her for she can bring back the dead. And with the dead, come the knowledge that no one alive would possess. They should have locked the dead with more than the pathetic magic that they used.

If the Helvaut locks her target away, then she will break it. Shame though, the plane would be ruined but why should she care? She doesn't live here. Let the native suffers. They don't matter to her anyway.

Her mind starts to formulate the plan. It needs to be intricate and have no mistake. Thraben is one of the most guarded regions of the plane. The main forces of the church are here. She would not put it past them to hold the secret to unlock the Helvault.

It matters not. She has all the time she needs. She has all the body she needs.

…

Custom Card of the Chapter

**Name:** The Talk

**Mana Cost:** BBR

**Type: **Enchantment

**Card Text: **

Skip your draw step.

Whenever you discard a card, exile that card from your graveyard

Pay 1 life: Exile the top card of your library face down. Put that card into your hand at the beginning of your next end step. Put an experience counter on The Talk.

If the twentieth experience counter is put on The Talk, shuffle your hand and graveyard into your library, then draw seven cards. Exile The Talk.

**Flavor Text**: "But mother, this is just Necropotence with extra-steps." – Jon Snow.

**Rarity:** Mythic Rare


	14. Chapter 14 The Dire

**Chapter 14 The Dire**

**I looked up the map of Innistrad on google and it turns out there is no official map. Well. The relative position between each region will be a bit vague. I will mostly adhere to Gelven's version.**

…

**Reviews/ Q&A**

**Someguy the anon: **Can you leave something in the beginning of a chapter to say if it touches on stuff from the world Jon is originally from …

I hope you like what I did with this one. It will come her from time to time. The narrative I aim for is that Jon doesn't know what's going on in his home plane until it blows up to his face.

** :** Interesting

Thanks mate.

**ThatOneGuyUpstair: **Wait did the planeswalker sterility thing still exist after the mending** …**

I don't know actually. But the only two planeswalker who have children are Tamiyo and Angrath, and both of them seems to have children and family before their planeswalker spark ignited. So, this is my explanation in my story (head)canon. The truth probably be that WotC doesn't want to drive into that kind of narrative.

Also, you shouldn't think about this thing much. I intend it as a joke and how to show the side of a planeswalker that WotC doesn't show you. One of the perks of a fanfiction, I guess.

…

King's Landing is not as grand as one thought it is, and no one knows this more than the hand of the king. The sewer system is non-existent, and with millions of people cramming in a small area the filth piles up real fast. The stench of the city is legendary, even at the higher quarter or the red keep. People always starving in Fleabottom, a crime-ridden quarter of the capital. Sometimes Jon Aryn wonders how the gold cloaks do their job if they do anything at all.

And that is the mess of one city. From the trajectory, his fostered son Robert will turn entire Westeros into a similar shithole before he drinks and whores to his early grave. The crown is millions in dept, a magnificent feat considering that before his reign the treasury is full.

If Westeros had not been burned before then, he might need to find a way to reign in Robert. There is, however, a more immediate threat to the realm. The Northern heathens have outdone themselves. Talk of independence from the crown and faith had been going on for quite a while. When Varys' little bird starts to sing, he doesn't want to believe it. It seems that his other fostered son Ned cannot even control his own bannermen.

The hostility between the two faith is building up rapidly. With that kind of tension, Jon Aryn is surprised that his goodsister is still alive at all. The redhead Tully is as unyielding as she always is. Not only she does not willing to adapt to the Northern way of life, but she also insists that the North would fit hers. And Ned, a son that he raised, does nothing to reprimand her. Maybe they believe that the Stark name would stop all these aggressions to escalate beyond what they can control, but now even he starts to doubt. He dreads to think about what would happen when the Stark name got ignore by the fanatical heretics.

That would cause war. To think that it starts from the death of a bastard, and his namesake at that.

The faith down south doesn't fare much better either. Septons across the south of the Neck start preaching about the holy wars once again. Worse still, it leads to a forming of a new faith militant. These people are as much as crazy as their northern counterparts. Lead by a man called High Sparrow, they overthrown the old High Septon in a bloody coup.

He is sure that Tywin doesn't have to deal with a thing like this under the mad king rule. At least he can hope that the faith militant will sort out the heretical problems down south first. If they can deal with the mountain men problem in Vale, the better.

If the faith between the north and south fight, it will become two problems that take care of themselves. As unlikely as it may seem, an old man like him can dream, can't he?

Jon Aryn isn't the kind of man who drinks during his working hours but now is an exception. He opens a bottle of Abor Gold and pours himself a glass. He then looks at the report laid on his working table in his quarter. With a long sigh, he drinks the entire glass in one go and pours another one.

"My love." A woman half his age who he called wife enters the room. She doesn't even care that he is working, nor the protocol for meeting the hand of the king. "I wonder whether Peter …"

"Not now, Lysa!" He doesn't even bother to look at her. And of course, he doesn't notice her hateful eyes or her ugly murderous face as she walks away.

…

"… You see Jon, you will reach deeper when you do it from behind. But the best position …" For the past two hours, his mother didn't stop imparting her firsthand knowledge to him. Yes, he is uncomfortable. Yes, this is awkward. And yes, he didn't pay much attention although some bit and piece might prove useful.

It also helps that he has another voice in the head to keep him distracted.

'…_You have a very interesting choice for a family, boy. The monk is decent. The fake dragon is useful. The Shewolf is … peculiar to say the least. But I have to agree, you need to hone your skills_.' Vaevictis Asmadi snickers in his head. '_Lucky for you, back in my day I'm quite well known for my prowess in…_'

'_Oh, shut up! Not you too_.' Jon wants to slam his head to the wall or something similar, but he cannot. Banging your head on a tree in Ulvenwald is akin to telling every forest spirit in the area to kill you.

'_There is no me and you, boy. There is only us. We are one. It would be wise to listen to my counsel.'_

The conversation inside his head is a riveting experience for Jon. It is like he hears a thought that is not his own as if the elder dragon is living inside his head. He had doubt at the elder dragon's claim that they are one. However, he doesn't dare to think it least Vaevictis Asmadi might notice. He knows the lying game well enough, and he will bind his time. Until he learns how to block his own thought, he will need to play along.

'_You were an elder dragon devoid of any humanity and companionship. How will your council help me?_' Jon tries to keep his face as calm as possible, even though he is screaming internally.

'_Who says I don't have companionship? Hmmm. Mayhap, like me, you will prefer dragons to humanoid._ Do you know when you can move in three dimensions it is liberating? To feel the cold wind against your skin, while two of you twirling toward the ground. The blood rush will make your …' The elder dragon ramblings on.

'_YOU WILL CESE AND DESIST! CESE AND FUCKING DESIST!_' He internally bellows. Seeing that there is no way to stop the dragon, Jon tunes out from the oncoming description of the elder dragon mating ritual and further details. He has listened to that kind of debauchery for one day.

…

Their hunt has begun. This hunt is special for their target is a planeswalker. Their prey can be anywhere on Innistrad. Some might say that it will be impossible to achieve, but those people are not a planeswalker. They can just planeswalk away and to their destination. As long as they can find the lead, their task is already half done. But a good hunter will never go to one of the most heavily guarded enemy territory uniformed. That's why their first destination is eastward to the Approaches.

The Approaches is the Innistrad of Innistrad. It is a faithless place where the light of Avacyn didn't even reach. Criminals flocks there as well as anyone who wants to escape the church's rule. Its air smells of heresy. Its denizen ushers in corruption of the worst kind. Arlinn would not bring Jon here if she had a choice, but they need information. And who would know more about the church activity more than those who actively hide from them?

But that doesn't mean they have to be nice to the people here. On the contrary, the denizens of the Approach mostly speak one language: Violence. One needs to be though and merciless to be able to demand anything here. For Jon and Arlinn, though, violence is in their nature. Only through tamper and self-control that they kept the wolf spirit in check.

And in the Approach, they can let it out without any consequences. They will be long gone before the church notices anything. Sorin would not bat an eye if a few hundred lives here gone missing, because it's a norm. They are killing each other there all the time, a few hundred more is a little drop in an ocean.

Arlinn and Jon will have an easy time here. Easy for them, not so much for the denizens of the Approach.

"Hey! Look at that. A bitch and her son. Lady luck shines upon us today." One of the low life comments. "She looks a bit old but still in a good shape for a good fuck. The boy looks healthy enough. He would make a fine damn feast."

_Feast? What the fuck?_

"Looks like meat is back on menu boys!" The other ones scream.

_Oh. _

"Hmph!" Arlinn swings her spear and launches it at the loudmouth scum. He dies right on the spot with a spear struck through his mouth. "Jon. No survivor."

"But mother. What about the answer we are looking for?" Jon confusingly summons his spear. He still has much to learn.

"Stupid boy. Do you really think that one of these fools know the answer we are looking for? No. We kill enough of them, then someone who knows for will eventually take notice and seek us out." Arlinn lunges at the recently dead man and plants her boot on his chest as she rips the spear out of his face. The force of the impact is so great it tears out the dead man's torso from his body.

Silent falls as people look at the sheer brutality in shock.

*HOWL*

The onlooker turns and Jon dashes toward the nearest "target" and cleaves him diagonally in two. The force behind his swing makes the blood to splatter into a red mist. And from the red mist becomes a red blur as the slaughter begins.

…

And within minutes, it ends. The death toll is in dozens. Their sheer bestial ferocity and ruthlessness stunted the Approach's rabble turning one of the most notorious individuals into nothing but a lamb to the slaughter. These people are not trained soldier. Notorious bandit they might be, but when caught unprepared and without weapons, they are harmless.

The mother and son always try to be civilized. As a planeswalker, they need to be, for they need to adapt to the new environment and new civilization. But as a werewolf the there is nothing that makes their blood pumping more than the thrill of a fight. Violence is their true nature. There is nothing more appealing to them than the thrill of the hunt and the rush of blood from the fight.

Well, sex comes close. It's a high second place but Jon doesn't know that. Yet.

And maybe he never will if he doesn't man up and own it to himself.

Sitting on a pile of corpses, Jon naively asks his mother. "What now mother? Should we wait so they can find us?"

"No. We move on." Answered his mother. "This kind of death is normal in this region. We need a lot more to draw their attention."

Looking at bloody mangle bodies under him, Jon could only feel that there is something wrong in their actions. His thought is confirmed when even Vaevictis Asmadi agrees.

"_Oh my. Quite a bloodthirsty aren't you, your mother and yourself? You don't even hesitate when you go for a kill. Perfect. The ferocity even rivals my own, albeit lesser in destructive _power." Taunts the elder dragon. "_What's this? Feeling remorse for their deaths? You don't hesitate to kill but feel guilty afterward?_"

"_Shut up!_" Jon internally screams. Sure, he doesn't hesitate to kill on his mother's command. Still, the sheer number of life loss gnaws at his mind. Why do they have to kill this much? Must they waste this much life for an answer? They don't even start tracking the necromancer. How many lives must be lost to this endeavor?

AND WHY DOES THE DRAGON SO WHOEHEARTLY APPROVE THIS ACTIONS?

"_Why should I? You do enjoy it. The blood rush feels good, doesn't it? That's our nature, why deny them?_"

For once, Jon doesn't reply.

…

… _If there is something strange …_

… _In your neighborhood …_

… _Who you gonna call? …_

… _Tamiyo. She probably records it in her journal. …_

"Oh?" is the only words she has uttered for the past four days. She has been observing the magical properties of Innistrad's cloud. For the plane that is so saturated with black mana, its sky contains very little. This holds true even in the region that lacks the presence of the church and angel. She needs to record it for further studies.

Then she notices a spike in planeswalker's activity below her. Two, quite surprisingly. Two planeswalkers are traveling together killing the locals while they are killing each other. She would ignore them had she not notice a familiar figure.

"Arlinn? What is she doing this time?" Tamiyo tilts her head, closes her journal, and descends. "Crazy bitch."

When she flew down, all she could see is a city-sized brawl. Humans fighting humans while a vampire is stabbing someone else in the back. Zombies drag the one that falls down into the ground. Devils jumping from roof to roof, raining fire down to those who are fighting below. Beasts and animals tear apart the fallen limbs from limbs. Vampires are killing humans, humans are killing demons, devils are killings humans, spirits are killing devils, animals are killing vampires, zombies are killing animals and many more permutations imaginable.

And in the middle of it all is her "friend" Arlinn. She accompanies a younger boy who resembles her in both look and behavior, as far as she can briefly observe.

_A werewolf? This young? Had Arlinn achieved the impossible?_

Considering what she knows about her friend, birthing a child is not a distant possibility. As the old saying in Rhabia: _When you throw enough mud at the wall one is bound to stick. _

"Arlinn." Tamiyo calls the name as she descends close enough. She also blasts a devil that tries to jump her out of the sky with her minor scroll. "Should I be surprised?"

The werewolf laughs at her question. "Should you? Should I?" She looks up then suddenly turns to face the incoming fist from a demon. She blocks it with her bare hand, twists it around and headbutts the attacker. The demon falls right on the spot.

"I'm your only friend from Kamigawa." She replied.

"How?" The question could be interpreted in many ways and she would like to record all of them. The phenomena are not natural, even on Innistrad. Sure, there is a murder and dark ritual every night, but a "bar fight" that includes almost all the nastiness of the plane is in no way normal.

As she ponders, a balefire dragon flies from a distant mountain top to join the fray. It swoops down and burns half of the town, killing everything that caught in its fire. Then it just left, as if nothing happens.

"What!" She exclaims. These behaviors are not normal. Nothing here makes sense. Oh. She needs to record this in a scroll and lock it away in the tower of Oboro. This knowledge is dangerous. Fascinatingly dangerous.

*ROAR*

She turns toward a young boy beside Arlinn, who is the origin of the terrifying sound. All she sees is a stream of fire bursting out and burns all that stand in its way. This is not Arlinn's magic. The boy is special that is to be sure. He may look somewhat likes Arlinn but he is also something more. Something worth observing and studying, that's to be sure.

By the time she finishes contemplating the mob has been scattered. Senseless violence against each other is one thing, but a mass death by two dragon fires is another.

"Good job, Jon!" Arlinn proclaims. "Are you having fun?"

"Fun? Aren't we here to gather information, mother?" The boy looks back at Arlinn. So, his name is Jon. Hmm.

"Yes. And here she is. May I present auntie Tamiyo. As you can see, she is also a planeswalker like us. She loves telling stories so feel free to ask her some. Also, she is one of the few who got herself caught in a trap that is marriage." Arlinn yanks her leg down and with some wrestling involve, the shewolf catches her in a side headlock.

"The last part is unnecessary, but thanks for an introduction Arlinn." Tamiyo finds herself unable to break free. Strength is not her strong suit. She observes the boy face and finds that he is indeed a planeswalker. His glowing eyes are a dead giveaway.

_So Arlinn give birth to another planeswalker? This is worth a record._

"She also one of a few who have a child, so she can teach you a thing or two about sex and how to be good at it!" Arlinn continues with a sentence that makes her want to blast the bitch sky high, a friend or not.

"Gods damn it, Arlinn. Why do you have to be such a slut?" She hit Arlinn arms to make her loosen but only to make the hold tighter. "I'm sorry you have to hear that young man. … Release me, you bitch!"

"I prefer the term, Absolute Legend." Said Arlinn before she releases her from the hold. "It's more … refine."

"Mother. If she is your friend, can't you just … you know … call her? Why do we need to … WELL! THIS!" He swipes his hand around to draw their eyes to the total carnage of the city. Fires burn everything to ash as the ground is dyed red with blood. A puss of zombie rotten bile mixes with an unholy mess of a demon corpse. It is not a majestic scene to see.

_Is that common sense?_ Tamiyo ponders._ Whoever the boy father was, he should be a paragon of commonsense to balance out the batshit craziness that he inherits from Arlinn._

"Oh, no no no. She not who we were looking for, but she probably has the answer we seek. You see an ash pile over there? That's the one I bring you here for is a vampire lord who prized himself in knowing everything on Innistrad. Too bad that dragon decides to swoop on just the right moment. But do not fret! Tamiyo is here and she records everything." Arlinn nonchalantly explained.

"What!" Both she and the boy scream. Arlinn laughs.

…

After the things die down and his bloodlust is satiated, Jon's mind is clear enough to ask questions. Arlinn is a good woman and the best mother he could ever hope for, but sometimes she let her emotions rule her decision instead of logic. It makes her very fierce and protective, but sometimes a more civilized approach is needed. At least that is what Ugin had warned him.

"So. Can you help us, lady Tamiyo?" He asked, hoping that he sounds civilized enough.

There is no immediate answer. The moonfolk seems to stare at him so intensely it creeps him out. He feels like he is an artifact that is being appraised. It is as if she is trying how he is operated. Combining with her pale white skin and elongated neck, it makes him uncomfortable.

"Sure. But I need something in return, some answers of my own. Do we have a deal?" She extends her hand for him to shake. He takes it of course. His mother seems to approve as well. But how does one be so easy to persuade?

"So, tell me about yourself. How do you come to be? And why do I don't know about you all these times?" She asked. "Don't make that confuse face. There are not many things that could hide from me, especially when we consider Arlinn's hobby."

Jon's lips are sealed and turns to his mother for permission. Only when she nods does he open his mouth to answer.

"My name is Jon Snow, milady. My spark ignited when I was eight and I planeswalk to Innistrad. Mother found me in Ulvenwald and adopt me. I don't know who my real mother was. My lord father never tells me when I asked. That was six years ago. Mother teach me how to hunt, how to blend in, how to fight." His eyes dart back and forth between lady Tamiyo and his mother. His mother smiles at his choice of words, while lady Tamiyo slightly frown.

"Adopted, huh? So, the likeliness between the two of you are a coincidence?" She asked further.

"Yes, milady." Jon nods.

"Shame. And here I thought Arlinn finally got what she deserved from whoring around so much." Tamiyo rolls her eyes.

_The scroll beside her is writing itself!_ It seems to note down what he told her. _Neat._

"Hey, I am being an absolute legend. I never ask for money; it is about the enjoyment of the game. Besides, I didn't do it that often." His mother places her hand on her hips. She raised her voice but not out of anger. Clearly, this is one of her japing moments.

"You do it with Uncle Vol and Aunt Narset at least every fortnight for the past two years, mother." He decides to join in.

"NOT HELPING, JON!" His mother snaps at him.

"Vol? As in Sarkhan Vol? The one who traveled back in time and supposing changes Tarkir's history that we don't know about?" Tamiyo then snaps at his mother. Her eyes gleam with wonder. Her complexion and stance changes into what he could only deduce to be a sign of craving. Craving for what? He isn't sure. It is probably knowledge but considering all the planeswalker his mother is friend with so far, he would not put it past them to be something weird.

"Yes, it is a long story." His mother answered. She twirls her hair and raises her chin up.

"Well. Tell me more." Lady Tamiyo responds. She giggles like a little girl. "And after that, you will tell me how you two Rakdos the Approach by yourselves."

…

Meanwhile, on Zendikar, two planeswalkers are observing the weakening of the hedron network. The lock is dissolving, and soon whatever inside will break out. Even now, they could feel the corruption and the voice that invade their minds. Had they not been warned beforehand, they might even succumb to the mental attack.

"Vol?" Asked the woman. "What is it?"

"The spell has weakened a great deal since the last time I was here." Vol gestures his partner to the fading inscription on the hedron. "The first lock had been destroyed. We need to warn Ugin."

The woman nods. "Yes. Why does anyone what to unleash these monsters? If left unchecked they will destroy everything in the multiverse."

"Well, my dear Narset. The better question is: What do Bolas what to accomplish by unleashing these monsters?" Vol slightly nods and brings forth his hands, of which Narset takes. "Whatever it is, it will never be well for the likes of us." They planeswalk back to Tarkir, together.

…

**Custom Card of the Chapter**

**Name**: Violent AcKordance

**Manacost**: 3RRBB

**Type:** Legendary Sorcery

**Card Text:**

Prevent damage that is dealt to target creature until the end of turn.

Creatures you control get +2/+0 and have "can't be blocked by two or more creatures" until end of turn

Untapped all creatures. Destroy all creatures that was not attack or block at the end of the turn.

**Flavor Text:** "This is a cluster fuck. I need to record the shit out of it!" – Tamiyo, internally.

**Rarity:** Uncommon


	15. Chapter 15 Battle-forged

**Chapter15 Battle-Forged**

…

**Reviews/ Q&A**

** : **Love the characters.

I'm glad you like it.

**Someguy the anon**: thanks :D

Your Welcome.

…

Gulltown, the seat of house Grafton, is one of the wealthiest ports in Westeros. It is a jewel of the Vale and the major trade hub of the kingdom. Not only the money it brings from tax alone could equal the entire heathen region of the North, as the largest city of the region it also houses many cadet branches of the Vale noble houses.

And now, it is on fire.

Screaming men. Half-naked men. Faithless men. And many more adjectives could be used to describe those that are sacking the city. They came from the Mountain of Moon and they brought nothing but bloodshed and destruction.

All ten mountain clans united for the first time in recent history. Their attack is more frequent and more strategic. They raided a far end village and slaughter everyone. They burnt down sept after sept just to lure the bulk of the Vale's knight away from their garrison. They stormed the said garrison and plundered all the steel and armor their and burnt down everything else. Every settlement along the Eastern Road was either in ruin or abandon. Then the mountain clan also ran down the refugee that didn't escape them fast enough, took all the young women, and killed the rest.

Not long after that, a rumor started spreading. A rumor about a new leader of the mountain clan who carried an idol of the white wolf with grey eyes. He unites the savaged first men to defy the power of the Seven and the Andal. Some say he was the Griffon King reborn. Some say he was a story created to hide the support the savage got from the Northern lords. Some say the man was Jon Snow himself came back from the dead for vengeance.

Whatever the truth is, it doesn't matter for Lord Gerold Grafton. He has a much more immediate concern that is a sword struck through his gut. The blade sunk so deep past his body into his throne it cannot be dislodged easily. This proved to be fortunate for him, in some perspective, as it is the only thing that keeps him alive, for now at least. On his left is a lifeless body of his eldest son, decapitated. His younger son doesn't fare better as he is currently strangled to death by the savage. His wife is not there with him, but her screams echo the hall. He could only imagine what does the mountain men are doing to her.

Rape. Arson. Murder. If you add a blood orgy to the mix you would get a Rakdos Cult's Monday Party Starter pack.

And then he came. The mythical leader of the mountain men. His skin is painted pale white and his face is a warpaint in the shape of red tears akin to that of the weirwood tree.

"Oi. Who the fuck put a sword into the Andal lord's gut? We need him alive as sacrifice to the gods." Said the painted man. "Whatever, we can do it now. Bring the woman. Ready her for sacrifice too."

Lord Grafton's eyes rolls back into his head as the painted man orders his savage minion to bring his naked and beaten wife back into the hall. They throw her ruined body on the floor between him and their dead son.

"Which of you deepshit defile the god's offering! I told you to keep the cock inside your pants!" The painted man yells. He hit the men with a cock exposed in the head with a hammer. The man falls down dead on the spot.

"You will not get away with this!" said lord Grafton. He finds it hard to speak when blood is flooding his mouth, but that is the least of his concern.

"Oh. I think we will." The painted man spits at him and smiles. His teeth are too clean for him to be a mountain man. "The dawn of a new age is upon us. The White Wolf had shown us the way. The old gods had spoken. And we are their bloody hand."

He lifts his hammer up high. "For the life he was denied, I offer an Andal whores wrongfully sit in a position of a Lady of Gulltown." He slams it on Lady Grafton's head. The blow shatters and blends everything above her neck into a bloody paste.

"For the injustice of his death, I offer the bastard born under the union of the false Seven." The painted man smashes his hammer on young Grafton's jaws. It is launched across the hall with a trail of blood that follows close. The barbarian that holds him down then slash his throat with a knife and pull his tongue out from the wound.

"For the guidance he showed us, I offer the scum who plagues our land and kills our people. O' The Great White Wolf, Avenger and Protector, bless us with your strength and there will be more." As soon as he finishes his sentence, he swings his warhammer at Lord Grafton's head. There and then, House Grafton is extinct.

"Bring all the spoils to the mountain. We will ambush the Vale knight along the moon road."

…

Meanwhile on Kamigawa

As if his day would be any more bizarre. His sweat from the brawl didn't even dry yet and he had to planeswalk again. At least this "Kamigawa" plane is civilized. Bizarre but civilized.

And holy cheap shit the city is floating over the cloud.

Jon had a proper bath in a bathhouse, or what he thought it was a bathhouse. He cannot make head or tail of the language they used here. All he could see is some wiggly lines arranged in a pattern. Heck, he could be taking a bath in a fishpond and the folks just amuses enough not to stop him.

Not that he would understand when they are talking to him either.

And the people here. Oh, he once thought he was pale. The moonfolk coloring makes him looks like a dark skin from Dorne.

But damn, the place is nice. The water is scented with flower, jasmine, he believed. The running water is not too hot or too cold. Everything is just right. And it is damn well better than Winterfell. And a league better then what he had on Tarkir or Innistrad. Considering that he either slept among the star or in a decorated cave they dug out themselves, he couldn't complain much.

How many planeswalkers do it take to make a proper running water system? Well, no matter the number it will never be enough. What you need is a proper engineer. What they achieved on Tarkir was a miracle even with Ugin help.

After a proper bath, Jon finds himself joining Tamiyo and his mother in the garden. The view is good. He could see a civilization in the distance below him. He wants to go there and explore but then he reminds himself that he is currently in the floating city in the sky. Where is uncle Vol when he needs him?

Even then Jon doubts that uncle Vol would be much use against Lord Sorin had he known they took their time off from their mission.

…

"… Then those two show up at the old wyrm's place and somehow Ugin rope them in to teach Jon. Typical workload distribution I suppose. The high and mightly Ugin's time is far too important to prepare my son for the horror of the multiverse aside from occasional chat, of which are just telling the story of his good old day. Seriously, that old wyrm needs to get laid…." His mother doesn't stop speaking for a while now. It is quite a nice change of pace for the usually quiet Arlinn.

And consider that the only time she talks that long was yesterday when she lectured him in a subject he didn't want to hear. He even tuned out of that conversation a dozen times. At least this one did not make his cheeks burn so much.

"Focus, Arlinn. Stick to the topic." Said Tamiyo. By being a recorder of planar history, she is a very good listener. It makes her bring out many unusual behaviors from her friends. "You are drifting off again."

"All went well for about a year after Vol and Narset showed up. Jon grows at a rapid pace with their help so I'm thankful. So, I **THANK** them." His mother twirls her spear. "Then one day Sorin show up and command us to hunt down a necromancer planeswalker in his backyard. And here we are because my naïve son had sold his freedom to that old vampire."

"Oh." Tamiyo's respond is short and unemotional. She floats along with them through the dark forest. Her scrolls continue to write itself as usual. "And that's why you two cause a riot in the godforsaken town to help you track this necromancer?"

"That's quite a story actually. First we …." His mother continues their story but truthfully Jon stops paying attention quite a while ago.

So, he got up and walked around. The plants here are different. He doesn't care that much but it helps take his mind off things.

_Wait. Something is happening._

Jon senses tingle as he feels a slight shock on his forehead. His hairs stand up even when the air is not that cold. He hears the call although he couldn't make out the words. It is faint and powerless. Barely noticeable.

_What is this?_ He could only wonder.

"_Do you feel it, boy?_" The dragon inside him breaks the silence. "_Good. Save us trouble._"

"_What do you mean?_" His mother and her friend seem to not notice it, so he has to be careful.

"_Someone starts worshipping you. They even sacrifice in your name. What you get is power from their pathetic ritual." _The dragon mocked._ "Truth be told, it's not much. Even we receive a million more it will still be a firefly to the sun of a power we once held at our zenith. Even at our current state, it is not worth mentioning compared to what you can tap from the plane._"

"_What!_" Jon internally screams. How could he become a reason for people to kill each other? He has suffered as a bastard for eight years before his spark ignited, why does he still be a scapegoat for their failures? Granted, he spent half of those eight years in nursery, but that's not the point. "_We should stop them then._"

"_And why would you do that? What they do does not concern you. You should concentrate on the matter at hand boy. A necromancer planeswalker should not be underestimate least you want to join her undead army_." The dragon disapproves. "_Our power has yet to return in full. I cannot save us when the true danger comes like the last time. Every little bit of power might differentiate life from death._"

"_Fine._" Jon sighs and continues walking in silence.

…

Arlinn and Tamiyo continue talking after Jon got off and left. They sat at a small tea table in the garden. At their backs are a miniature waterfall decorated with flowers and aquatic plants. In the background, birds are chirping while flapping their vibrant wings. The sun shines bright as the cloud is below them. How can they still breath is a mystery, but the answer is probably magic.

She still prefers Innistrad to this place though. Everything here is so happy, it's annoying.

"… And that's how we plan to draw our target out. Kill the lowly thugs to catch the thrall attention. Then kill the thralls to gain then attention of their vampire master. Then kill the vampires to work up their chain until we confront our target." Arlinn's story was like her personality: simple, straight to the point, and filled to the brim with violence. "Then you showed up and somehow a dragon swooped down and burnt our target to ash. Lucky me."

"Hmm. Okay." Tamiyo sighs. "A bit anticlimactic but workable, I guess. I am going to put that in unlikely events category."

"Well. I could lie to add more flavor to the story if you want, Tamiyo." Arlinn laughs. "But since we are talking about our assignment. Do you have any information about a planeswalking necromancer on Innistrad?"

She leans forward and grabs Tamiyo hand. "If Sorin realizes the danger this necromancer poses, he should have known all about her already. Which means this is a test for Jon. I should not hold his hand more than I already have, or it will reflect badly on his capability. If he performs well enough, Sorin should grant him enough freedom to operate on his own, and we won't have an ancient vampire breathing down on our neck."

Arlinn's voice is sincere and her concern seems genuine. At least to the eyes of the observer. "I need your help on this Tamiyo, so please don't use the remain neutral excuse."

But Tamiyo knows that not all the reasons Arlinn need her help. She knows an underhand scheme when she heard one. Too bad, she doesn't have enough reason to say no to a friend for this small matter. Not when she has the answer they seek.

Damn her good conscience and upstanding nature.

"Alright, I will help. This is for Jon, not for you. His life is bad enough having you as a mother." Tamiyo jests. She sips her tea and takes a deep breath. "I know who you seek."

"You do?!" Jon appears behind Tamiyo's back without any sound. His sneakiness is unreal. Then again, no one had the training he had. "Thank you lady Tamiyo. Thank you."

"JEEZE! How did you get here?" Tamiyo screams in surprise. Shocked, her face pales even more than usual and her breath became heavy. Her scrolls are in shamble as all the brushes stroke wildly, ruining the texts on it. "Don't do that again."

*Whine*

"Jon is trained to walk softly and carry a big spear" Arlinn chuckles. "Don't you, Jon?"

"If you call getting beat by uncle Vol and aunt Narset that, then yes mother." Jon takes a deep breath and exhales, mimicking what Tamiyo did earlier.

"If you didn't get caught as much as you did, then it would not be much beating, Jon." Arlinn takes a sip from her hot water because anything that contains caffeine is a poison to their kind. It is another downside for being a werewolf, that and a bane of their life that is chocolate. "Anyway, who is this planeswalker we need to hunt down?"

…

Headache is what Tamiyo prefers to describe the state she currently in. She knew it. She absolutely knew that the mother and son would bring her trouble. There is an unwritten rule among the planeswalker to not interfere with each other affair. Sure, it is a rule that everyone seems to break whenever they want to, but that never ends well for anyone. What would you do to an entity that can go anywhere in the multiverse at any time? Who doesn't have anyone they care for and how could one be sure that their loved ones are safe?

She needs insurance. Her stakes are higher than them than any planeswalkers she knows so far.

"I need you to swear that whatever I tell you, the conversation doesn't happen." Her face becomes serious, and it doesn't go unnoticed by the mother and son duo.

"It's that serious? This necromancer is that dangerous?" Arlinn raises her eyebrows.

She nods.

"Alright, I swear. We didn't hear it from you." Arlinn gives her words. Jon nods and says the same.

"The necromancer's name is Liliana Vess. A human from Dominaria. She arrived many days ago when I study the cloud." Tamiyo brings forth a scroll from her rack. "The moment she landed on Innistrad, I noticed that the plane reacted to her arrival. She carried an artifact with an immense power that is supposed to be locked on Shandalar so I did some digging."

She unfolds the scroll that is labeled "The Chain Veil". "The Chain Veil is supposed to reside in a tomb of an ancient ogre race. The artifact itself is ancient, likely a pre-mending era. It is believed to grant the wearer a near unlimited source of black mana, the same way a Mox Jet does, but with a downside of eventually turning its wearer into a demon."

"But this necromancer doesn't? How come?" Asked Arlinn.

"That I don't know. From what I gathered about Liliana Vess, it seems she had an encounter with another demon previously before using the power of the Chain Veil to kill him. For what reason, I don't know either. But if I have to guess, she might want to do the same thing." Tamiyo put the scroll back in the rack and brings out another. This time it is the map of Innistrad. "She is a pre-mending planeswalker, albeit her spark had been ignited a few decades prior to the mending itself. There is a high possibility that she seeks to restore the power that she lost. Killing a powerful demon might be one of her way considering she aligns herself heavily on black mana. If that so, you might want to look into what is going on around Thraben."

"The Helvault." Jon uttered.

"Elaborate, Jon." Arlinn turns toward her son. Satisfied with his answer perhaps. Then it dawns on her. Arlinn is guiding her son to take charge, probably. There is also an equal chance that she is too lazy to share what she thought.

"Didn't you tell me that Helvault is the place the church used to lock away the demons and other enemies they defeat but cannot destroy? What if she wants to release whatever locked inside?" Jon's words are slow and steady. His voice is cold. "What if she unleashes everything that is locked inside?"

"Then Innistrad is fucked and Sorin had us to blame." Arlinn retorts in an equally cold voice. "It will be one hell of a fight, though."

The mother and son look at each other, nod. No words were exchanged. Tamiyo knows that look. Shit is about to go down, and she will have another worthy story to record.

"Before you two go, I want you to be the uttermost careful." Said Tamiyo.

"Oh. I'm glad that you care." Arlinn reaches forward and scratches her chin. She was fast, Tamiyo has to give her that. The scratches go for two rounds before she can yank her chin out of the werewolf reach.

"Damn it Arlinn." Tamiyo sighs as she regains her composure. "Seriously, be careful. I heard that Garruk is after her as well. As you know, he doesn't like sharing his prey."

There are three planeswalkers that everyone agrees not to be fucked with.

The first one is Garruk. He eats a wrum for breakfast, controls a horde of beasts, and good at tracking his prey and hunt them down. He also a hunk of muscles and his muscles have muscles of its own. Once he is after you, then you can run but you cannot hide.

The second is the Wanderer. No one has ever seen her face nor known her name, but everyone recognized her. She always wears a green conical hat that hides her entire head but a white long hair. Her skill with a blade is said to be the deadliest and most efficient seen on any plane. A hit from her spell-bounded sword and you are banished in-between space, possibly a blind eternity itself. The worse thing is that you cannot even hide from her if she comes for you. She could track your location long after you planeswalk away.

The third is the most mysterious. No one knows who he was. No one knows where he was from. No one knows what he wants. All that they know was his signature weapon, of which become his name: The Machete. Some say he is a dinosaur in a human form. Some say he was a vampire bartender before his spark ignited. Some say he is a ghoul vaquero who lost his entire family. Some say you should not talk about him least he comes for you.

"Then Garruk better not hunt in my territory without my permission. His self-proclaimed status as the apex predator lies solely on not meeting us yet." Arlinn slams her spear on the ground. She looks at her son and nods.

_**Yes, this is a homage to Danny Trejo's MTGA commercial. As he said, and I quote. "Llanowar Elf turn one, turn two Grow from the Ashes, turn three Giantosauraus. That's how you do it!"**_

…

**Custom Card of the Chapter**

**Name: **The Machete

**Cost: **3B

**Type: **Legendary Creature – Human

**Card Text: **

When The Machete enters the battlefield**, **target creature gets -5/-5 until end of turn. If that creature dies, destroy target creature or planeswalker an opponent control.

R, The Machete becomes a Vampire and gains lifelink until end of turn.

G, The Machete becomes a Dinosaur and gains trample until end of turn.

W, The Machete becomes a zombie and gains deaththouch until end of turn.

1, Regenerate The Machete

**Flavor Text: **"Machete improvises."

**P/T:** 4/2

**Rarity:** Mythic Rare


	16. Chapter 16 Awakened Inferno

**Chapter 16 Awakened Inferno**

**This chapter is inspired Lucifer Season 2 Episode 12: Love Handles. It is bonkers.**

…

**Reviews/ Q&A**

**Tian Yi:** Haven't got the talk yet. Even in my 20s.

Then your sex Ed. In your school either work really well or really badly. I hope it is the former.

**Some guy the anon:** oh, deary me this is not going well for anybody is it?

Since when it ever is?

: Interesting.

Thanks.

**Eldrazi317:** Is the Machete perhaps Sly Marbo from WH40k?

Nope. It's Danny Trejo. Look him up on IMDB. You must have seen some of his work. Anyway, he did an ad for MTGA, so that's the joke.

…

The night had never been kind to Thalia. Innistrad is a dangerous place to live in. Even in the mighty city like Thrraben, there are dangers everywhere. As a personal guard of the Lunarch, she is required to remain vigilant at all times. They may take turns guarding at night, but it doesn't mean she could sleep soundly when it is her turn to rest.

Unlike her, her roommate, Carla, one of the other two women of her rank is already as sleep. Her experience and rigorous training made her value any rest as much as she could. After all, the living must always sleep with one eye open on Innistrad.

The wind blows strongly this night as the thunderstorm looms close to the city. The air is cold and damp. It reeks of darkness and heresy. This night is like any other night in Thraben, but at the same time is different. It's cold but she feels hot. It's quiet but her heart beats loud.

Thalia cannot sleep. She just lay down and tries to close her eyes. Her roommate also doesn't help her with her snoring.

"Thalia." A familiar voice rang. It is soft and endearing. It is also firm and commanding. "It's had been a long time, milady."

Thalia opens her eyes and finds the voice's owner in front of her. He grows into a fine young man with a body anyone would die for. She is tempted to die for that had she not know what he really is. His amethyst eyes shine brightly in the darkness, illuminating his dark curly hair. His face is still as clean as the first day they met.

"Jon!" His name is let out her loosen lips. "How?"

"Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." His index finger presses at her lips. The touch is gentle, but his stretch is intoxicating. It smells as if she is wrestling a mastiff. A clean and recently bath mastiff showered with the best soap one could find in an attempt to hide it nature.

"I missed you." His words make her heart skip a beat.

Thalia doesn't have much capability left to think after he said the exact word she wants to hear. Nor did her mind had anything in it after he pressed his lips unto hers. She soon finds herself unable to mount any resistance to his invading tongue that explores her mouth and throat.

With his aggressiveness, it is hard for Thalia to remind herself that Jon is two years her junior.

It is heavenly. It is heresy. It is perfect.

Their faces interlock for such a long time she couldn't count. Their first kiss was not this ecstatic. Not after he saved her from vampires. Not before they part their ways. No. They were young back then. Barely grown out of being a child.

Now she is fifteen. And he is, thirteen?

They are not that much older from their first kiss as she thought. A fact that is sure killed the mood. And behold, her eyes widen at the realization.

That was then his hand starts to move along her back.

"Jon, no!" She smacks his shoulder and pushes herself away. Her breath is heavy as do her heart. "What are you doing! Carla is sleeping and there are four others nearby."

"We need to be discrete then. Admit it. The thought of getting caught is riveting isn't it?" He reaches for her arms and pulls her close. "I won't make a single sound if you won't. But no promise."

His fingers move at a rapid pace and hit all the correct spots on her back. She could feel her cloth is getting undone as his other hand had a free reign over her neck.

So, she decides to screw it and throws her arms over his shoulder. She stares intensely into his eyes and presses her lips against his. It is time for her to go offensive.

They wrestle against each other for a mere moment before the clothes start falling off. His archmage robes are somehow ridiculously easy to dismantle.

She parts her mount from his only to catch her breaths. Her gaze becomes even more intense as he observes his brilliance in full. His ripped muscle calls out for her touch. His chest, arms, and legs are pulsating with power. To keep up that kind of dynamic tension … it must be hard work.

Then her gaze comes to a peculiar item on his neck. _A collar? How does that get here?_

"It seems you found my love collar, milady. I'm yours to command." Jon grinds. His words are music to her ears.

"Anything?" She asked.

"Anything. Whatever you desire and much more." He answered.

"Oh, Jon!" She cried out his name before jumps him. One thing leads to another and everything seems to fall into its rightful place as if the stars aligned for it to happen. Her tension is ever rising, higher and higher. "Oh, Jon. Yes, just like that. Make me squeal your big fur…!"

"Thalia!" Her name is called. But the voice is not Jon's.

_What the …._

"Thalia!" Another voice rings from the place that should be Jon. "Oi! Thalia. Wake up and calm yourself, girl."

…

Once again, Thalia opens her eyes. The storm is brewing. The air is damp. The only difference is that Carla is looming right above her head.

_SO, IT'S A FUCKING DREAM!_

"Must be one hell of a dream, huh?" said Carla. "You are so loud, I thought there was an attack."

Carla is a middle-age woman that got recruited to be Lunarch's personal guard a decade ago. She had seen a lot of promising recruits come and go. But this incident is probably the first thing she sees in a long while, as her reaction seems to indicate.

"What happened?" Asked embarrassed Thalia.

"Well. You're asleep. Then you start thrashing around so much I can no longer sleep and had to check on you. At first, I think you had a nightmare. Then you start to moan."

Thalia's cheek reddened. Her handshakes heavily. _Oh no!_

"And with that, I know what is going on. So, I silently watch and enjoy the show. For a while it quite fun to watch but you start to twitch really hard and get really loud." Carla continues. Her face tries the hardest to hold her laughter. Even then, a few chuckles are escaping from the wide grin.

Thalia's entire face is red as a ripe tomato, her pale complexion shows her vessels pumping a massive amount of blood to her head.

"And what is this anyway?" Carla mimics a yanking motion as she grinds her hips against the blank air. "What sort of a weird fetish resides in that young mind of yours? Tell me, I won't judge."

"Wha…." Thalia's mount went wide open. Her words are cut short due to a hiccup caused by a sheer nervousness. Her eyes grow even wider than she ever had before.

_Shit._

"And who is this luck boy named Jon and should all the single boys in town be jealous?" Carla asked. "Must be one hell of a guy. A forbidden love perhaps? Well, if it doesn't work out do send him my way."

And that comment snaps her back to her sense.

"NOPE. NopE. NOpe. nOPe. Nope." Thalia replied and buried her head in her pillow. She ignores everything else till morning.

…

Meanwhile, on Thraben outskirts, two werewolves are hiding on a run-down mill. The night is calm. The air is cold. Even though the necromancer they are hunting is unlikely to remains inside the city, it is not a bad idea to scout beforehand. It would be even better to make the church hunt down their target, so they can swoop in at the right moment and take their price without much work.

Or that what Arlinn had planned before. Now? She had to scrap that plan. Something is wrong with Jon.

His eyes rolled back inside his head. His limbs fall flat and his body collapses on the floor. She tries to call him over and over, but he doesn't even respond. The magic is running wild as far as she can sense. Jon is consuming green mana at an alarming rate, so much so that she couldn't tap into it.

Worst still, she couldn't leave him here and ask Ugin, Sarkhan, or Narset to check him out. Not only he cannot defend himself at this state, but three of them are also currently busy as far as she knows.

"Oh, Jon. What happened to you."

…

While his mother is worried sick about him, Jon is having an out of body experience. He sees the things people wouldn't believe. It might not be attack ships on fire of the shoulder of Orion nor a C-beam glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser gate, but it is as spectacular. He sees through thousands upon thousands of pairs of eyes. Wolves, bats, birds, rats, cats, sheep and much more. The sheer information he received is enough to overload his brains and render him motionless.

His thought is blank as he put himself inside a mental prison of his own making. His body became a focus for the black mana of Innistrad and his mind merged with everything that it can dominate within its wide range. Uncontrolled, he cannot pull himself back in his own body.

'_Oh. Oh. Ho. What do we have here? It seems you surprise me yet again, boy._' Snickered the elder dragon. '_Such a powerful ability. So wild and untamed. Hmmm. Fine then. I will help you just this once._'

Vaevictis Asmadi extends the minuscule power he currently possesses to merge himself with Jon's target. One by one he severe a connection between the boy and the dominated. When the connection is severed, he pulls the sliver part of the boy back to his own body.

'_This will take quite a while._' The dragon groaned as another connection is severed. '_At least it is better than doing nothing and watches you humiliate yourself_.'

One by one, Vaevictis collect Jon's scattered mind and return it to his body. In total, it takes the elder dragon two hours of continuous work to pull Jon back together. As more piece of him is back, Jon's thought becomes clearer and clearer, but that doesn't mean he will be the same.

During the helping process, the elder dragon embeds a sliver of himself into Jon's. Vaevitis might be patient but he doesn't just let an opportunity slips by. He knows that the more Jon taps into his draconic essence, the more influence he holds over the boy. Yet, he deems the process too risky and too slow.

If he can subtly embed himself inside the boy's soul, then he is more likely to take over his body when the time is right.

The body with the ability to dominate thousands of people from a long distance. Just the thought makes Vaevictis Asmadi smiles. Had he possessed such gift during the Elder Dragon War, Dominaria would be his and only his.

'_Huh? What happened?_' Asked the recently awakened Jon. '_Ouch. My head hurt._'

'_You idiot. Had I not been with you, you would lose yourself in the minds of thousands of others._' Said the annoyed dragon. If he had a corporeal body and if this place is not in their shared mindscape, he would claw the boy's face already.

'_What sort of foolishness clouded your mind to such this extent? Using a mind related magic with neither prior experience nor training with such power, are you looking for a fate worse than death?_'

There are no words to express how angry Vaevictis is with the boy. If his host falls in a perpetual coma, it will leave him two choices. One is to take over the weak and pathetic body and risks getting detected and killed. The other is to hope for some miracle, which would risk his exposure if a really strong helper like Ugin or Sorin came.

The increase in his influence over the host body doesn't worth that kind of risk. When you play this game you either win or you get wipe from all the planes of existence.

'_What!_' Jon internally screamed. '_I didn't intend …_'

'_Yes, you didn't. But it doesn't matter, does it? You have access to too much power beyond your control. As you grow stronger, next time it happens I might not be able to help you._' Mocked the dragon. '_Then again. I have a way to help you with that._'

Jon soon found himself in a small dark pit inside of his own mind. There was nothing in it except for one locked door. There is nothing special about this door. Or is it?

'_What is this place?_' Asked Jon.

'_Take a wild guess, boy…. You know what? Don't. This place is inside your mind. The door you see is connecting your consciousness to mine_.' Vaevictis sounds annoyed. '_Open it! If you don't, I might not be fast enough to help you the next time it happens._'

…

Jon didn't know what make him accepted Vaevictis Asmadi's deal. He knows that letting that elder dragon more control than he already has is a bad idea. Still, he doesn't know what came over him that makes him opened that damn door. It was as if, at that moment, his mind was not his own.

Well. Too late to regret that now. He will need to deal with it later, with Ugin's help perhaps.

"Jon!" He heard his mother calling as soon as he opens his eyes. He then feels a hard constriction around his arms as his mother hugs him with all the strength she had. "Thank Avacyn you are safe."

"Mother. I'm sorry." Jon hugs back. He buries his face in her embrace. "I must have worried you greatly."

"It's alright, Jon. It's alright." Replied Arlinn. "Shhhhh. Get some rest, Jon. We will continue our plan when you are ready."

So, rest he did. For a while anyway.

The night progresses gradually and soon the new dawn is arriving. Jon takes these little moments to put his mind at rest. Even when his conscious is whole again the consequence from its shattering is beyond his comprehension.

Whether it is everlasting damage or transformational tampering is remained to be seen.

Jon wakes up and finds Arlinn stands ever vigilant over his rest. She looks tired.

"Mother." Jon looks up at her. "You should get some rest too."

"We still need to scout, Jon." Arlinn replies. She relaxes her shoulder and sits down beside him. "We waste enough time as it is."

"A short nap then?" He holds her hands. "I need some time to control my newfound power."

'_It is a good opportunity to test your new ability, Boy. Try taking over the mind of a nearby bird for a start. If something goes wrong, I will help you.' _Vaevictis's voice sounds inside his head. '_It will be hard, but it will be a powerful skill if you can master it. Convince the shewolf. Do it at once._'

The dragon seems convincing. Still, he finds it strange that it would actively help him. Vaevictis must have planned something, and it wouldn't be good for him in the long run. It just that right now he could not do anything about it.

"New power?" It caught his mother's attention. "What sort?"

"I can see through the eyes of beasts. Thousands of them. It should help with reconnaissance if I achieve some mastery over it."

"But you don't have access to blue mana." She raises her brows. Then her eyes widen as she realizes. "You use black mana to do mind magic. Like Sorin."

Jon nods.

"Then it must be more than just looking through the eyes of beasts. I heard that Sorin can control the mind of people, even other planeswalkers, to do his absolute bidding. Maybe the binding curse he placed on you is the same." Arlinn smiles. "Maybe you might find a way out of eternal servitude that you foolishly placed yourself in."

Seeing that his mother relaxes, Jon smiles back. "You should take a quick nap, mother. I will be careful."

"Practice taking over the mind of a small animal first. If you fall like last night again, I don't think my heart could take it." His mother smiles. "Be careful."

"Don't be ridiculous, mother. From what I heard of your favorite pastime; you had taken much worse than that." Jon smirks. Internally he wants to do a split take. His family is weird. At least it is better than the one he had in Winterfell.

"Cheeky brat." Arlinn snort. If he was younger, she would spank the shit out of him. Too bad she taught him how to fight back, and she taught him too well. If she wants to hit him it would leave him in a coma, or he would get off unscathed. Neither is what she wants. "I won't take long. Only resting my eyes, a little bit."

"Yes, mother. Have a good one." Jon nods.

…

Seeing that his mother resting on the wall, Jon closes his eyes and concentrates. He tries to sense his surroundings and finds any critters he could take over. His senses span outward. Ten meters. Twenty meters. Fifty meters. One hundred meters. Five hundred meters. The radius of his detection increases as he channels more and more mana into it.

'_Stop!_' he heard Vaevictis's voice. '_You idiot. Who teaches you to use your gift like this?_'

'_What are you talking about? It is working._' Jon is annoyed. How dared he? Elder dragon or no, one should not mock his result when it clearly is working. '_I can detect everything within five hundred meters around me. A thousand if I really push it. Can you say the same?_'

'_Yes, you fool!_' replied the dragon. '_I don't have a problem with your method, even though it requires a lot of refinement. What I have a problem with is how you waste most of your mana on that spell_.'

'_Waste?_' Jon curiously asked.

'_Yes, you idiot. Take a look at how much mana did you use. It is astronomical. If you content with that pathetic result, you better not trying at all. Let me show you how it should be done._' Before Jon could react to the dragon's claim, he felt Vaevictis's presence flooding his mind, dominating it. 'Do not resist. It won't take long. You should be grateful.'

Jon soon finds himself lost in his consciousness once again. The door was swung wildly opened and he saw a gigantic brutish dragon with a large crest over its head looming over him. _This is what Vaevictis Asmadi looks like._

'Look closely and listen well. When you channel multiple colors of mana, you must balance its proportion well. Lean too heavily on one side would weaken your spell. For example, you flood black mana on your last spell and wastes most of it.' Jon looks at the dragon's claws as three streams of colored light continuously gather around it. Black, Red, and Green. Three colors of mana that they both could call for.

'_This is what happened._' The dragon channels more and more black mana into its claws. The mindscape around him changes and soon Jon finds that he senses everything within a kilometer range. '_If the method is refined, it will become this_.' The dragon raises its claws. Jon doesn't know why but the position it takes seems stronger.

*Boom*

To his shock, the range of detection expands rapidly. Soon, Jon finds that he could detect everything within ten kilometers radius. His perception is just short of Thraben's wall itself.

'_Don't be so excited. As I said, this method is wasteful._' Jon frowns when he heard that. '_Your innate aspect of a wolf grants you superior perception. It is tied with green mana. Using black mana to enhance it will only improve it marginally. Don't you know how your power works?_'

Jon's eyes enlarge at the explanation.

'_You know what? Don't even bother answering it._ _I will show you what will happen if you use green mana instead of black. A hundred times less even_.' Vaevictis roars and changes the ratio between mana colors. The green light is dominant while black and red supplement it.

*Boom*

The mindscape expands once again as more and more information floods in. Jon finds himself in a trance as he detects everything within the city. Animals, plants, buildings, people. Everything cannot escape his detection, but not for long. Soon he finds himself back inside his mindscape once again with the dragon looming over him.

It all happens so fast. He cannot process any of it. Had he given enough time; he could locate anyone inside that city. But the time is too short, so what he got is a mere feeling.

'_Now do you understand?_' Asked the dragon.

'_Yes._' Jon answered. '_Thank you._'

'_Don't be. You have much to do. Taking over a simple mind of a beast is no small matter, let alone another sentient being. Even so, your mind is not yet strong enough to process that much information. It will leave you defenseless. But with training, everything is possible._' Said Vaevictis. '_We are an elder dragon, boy. Absolute power is our right. It is up to you to be one_.'

…

With a suspicious encouragement from the elder dragon that lives inside his own consciousness, Jon continues to practice his newfound gift. True to Vaevictis's word, taking over a mind of an animal is no small feat. Sure, he could see through their eyes easily enough, but his command over its body is met with plenty of resistance. A mouse in the nearby barn was his first victim. He sees through its eyes, hears through its ears and smells through its nose. If he wanted to turn its head to look around, it did so. That was easy. But when he commanded it to move, it sat still.

Only then Jon realized that he needs to move its limb individually and found that it was harder than its looks. How could he have known how a mouse moves. Is it left, right, left, right, or left, left, right, right?

But his frustration didn't last long for the paraplegic mouse soon became a prey to a barn owl. With its death, his mind got snapped back into his body.

"Shit!" Jon's eyes open wide as he snapped out of his trance. He didn't know how scary the descending owl is to a mouse before. Now he knows.

Seeing that his mother is still napping, he tries again. This time with a different purpose. He wants to find someone.

'_Fine then. I will just look through animal's eyes. Let see_ …' Jon closes his eyes and concentrates once again. Taking the lesson with the elder dragon to account. He channels the green mana is time to expand his range of perception. '… no. no. not here. Not here either.'

It took him quite a while to look for his target. '… There! Wait that's not her. Damn it.' Or not.

'_There! Oh. She looks just like the last time we part_.' It took him a long time to find his target. '_The Lunarch's personal guard, huh? This will complicate things.'_

…

**Custom Card of the Chapter**

**Card Name:** Dragon's Tutelage

**Mana Cost:** 2R

**Types:** Enchantment

**Card Text**:

Whenever you draw a card, target opponent reveals top two card of their library and put them on the bottom of their library in any order. If they're both nonland cards that share colors, deal 2 damage to that player and repeat this process.

5R, discard a card, then draw a card.

**Flavor Text: **Foolish boy! Let me show you how it's done.

**Rarity:** Uncommon


	17. Chapter 17 Telepath Unbound

**Chapter 17 Telepath Unbound**

**I know I've kind of been slacking off lately. But can you blame me, there a prerelease for Theros Beyond Death, New years (Both universal and Chinese), a new release of Warcraft III: Refunded (But Warcraft3 PTR is free now so go check it up), a new release for Total War Warhammer 2, and a lot of things that keep me occupied. Sorry about that.**

…

**Reviews/ Q&A**

**chickenbass: **I almost pity the Ironborn! A grief-stricken Ned Stark would be a terrible thing indeed.

Well. Balon is dead. But his brothers still live, so you shouldn't be. The ramification of not having Balon keeping his brothers at bay would be revealed in the next arc though if Westeros isn't as in turmoil as it already is.

**chickenbass:** I enjoy all the references you put in.

Thanks. I saw in some story they call this type of writing as a crack with a plot. I agree with that wholeheartedly.

**NarutoMorningStar: **Do you have any wish for Jon to take part in the events of Westeros?

Yes. It will be a year or so before the start of the show. You will be surprised how unequipped Jon will be when he returned. And how much a shitstorm a single planeswalker can cause by just existing. It will be fun.

…

On a cold winter morning in the time before the light, the city of Thraben remains silent. No birds chirping. No ringing from windchime. Nothing. No one dares to make a slip for the sun is yet to rise, and they had not thanked the holiest and graceful Avacyn for protecting them through yet another night.

In contrary to the city, the barrack for the Lunarch's elite guard is busting with commotion. Everyone that resides there is a well-disciplined soldier and faithful warrior of the church. They rise before the first light even attempts to crawl up the sky. They have one job and one job only, and that is to protect the Lunarch. They always serve with distinction and eager to begin their vigilance duty another day.

Everyone except Thalia that is. She wishes the world had ended the last night after Carla wake her up from her fiery succulent dream. If a demon swooped down and killed her right now, she would allow it. At least it would be less bothersome than answering myriad questions from Carla and others. The older woman would never let that go. She knows it.

"Oi, Thalia." Carla's voice jolts her up. It makes her shoulder stiff. "You owe me answers. Who is this, Jon? Hmm?"

"None of your business, Carla." Thalia replied. Internally, she sighs heavily. Out of all people that would know her secret, why must it be her?

"Oi. Sure. It's not my business. But I am sure can make it the everyone business. What others would do when they know that our little Thalia has some man stashes somewhere for her personal use?" Said Carla with a sinister smile on her face. "It would break a lot of single men heart for one, many in our regiment included."

"Don't you dare!" Thalia's eyes flashes in a mix of anger and terror. "Don't. You. Dare."

"Oh, I do dare my dear Thalia. Unless …." Carla's smile enlarges. "You tell me about this lovely Jon of yours right now. While we are getting ready for our day, of course."

Carla observes her prey and found the situation satisfying. No matter how skills in combat young Thalia is, her life experience is almost non-existent. Being raised as an orphan of the church, it was sheer luck for her to know any man at all. Hence, Carla must know who he is. Anyone that breaks the norm is interesting, and for a woman her age, an interesting young man is an exotic specimen indeed.

"Oh, by the way, you have time to decide before I finish undressing." Said Carla as she slowly slips out of her inner shirt and pants. Being the Lunarch's personal guard, they had to be combat-ready at every moment. That means they sleep with light armor on and have a cuirass in their bedroom. It also means it takes quite a lot of time for them to undress. "You better hurry."

As Carla hands darting across her body more and more piece of clothing falls to the floor, she continues observing her younger roommate who is turning redder and redder every moment. "I'm halfway there, Thalia. Living on a prayer I see."

Thalia, on the other hand, is shaken as if she was caught in a snowstorm. "Okay! Okay! I will talk."

"Your frustration is so adorable." Carla leans in and pokes her nose. "So, who is this secret lover of yours?"

The older woman grabs fresh towels and a bucket of water and places them in the middle of the room. She hands one to Thalia and undresses her younger roommate with her eyes. If that is not a silent command, then what is?

The elite guard for the Lunarch is many things, uttermost efficient is one of those values. Even when they are gossiping, they don't waste time.

"Come on. Don't standstill. Clean yourself and don your attire. We wasted enough time as it is." Said Carla as she rubs a wet towel over her developed body. "And don't stay silent either. If you back out of our deal …"

"Alright. Alright. Geez. You are evil." Thalia quickly gets out of her own gown and washes herself. Her pale skin turns pink due to an increase in blood flow over her body. "His name is Jon Snow."

"Jon. Snow." Carla repeated. "What a strange name. Where's he from?"

"Kessig." Answered Thalia as she scrubs her lightly arms.

"Bullshit!" Carla snapped. Her towel dances around her chest.

"I beg your pardon?" Thalia frowns. She had yet to tell a lie. It was not as if she told Carla that Jon is a werewolf or anything. If she does that, she would probably be burnt at a stake too, considering Carla is a witness to a dream she had last night.

Now, the thing had been even more complicated. She needs to come up with a new plan. The one that will not end up with her death, or at best excommunicated, too.

"You are an orphan of a church and was raised in Gavony. How in the hell did you know a boy from Kessig?" Carla twists her towel and turns it into a whip to crack at her young roommate.

"That's a long story." Thalia winces. Her still developed body is small and lithe and doesn't do well with a teasing that she currently received.

"Then tell me a short version. Leave out the juicy details for later." Carla finishes her bath early and

…

While the interrogation of Thalia is happening, the two women don't know are being watched from afar. Had they able to see through the dark, they would see a white eyes raven staring at them since they woke up. The raven stood still and remains unmoved on the nearby roof.

And through its eyes, Jon Snow sees everything. Through its ears, Jon hears everything.

It supposed to be mere scouting, but now Jon could not move away. An angel has appeared before him and gives him her graces. By Avacyn, he was entranced at the sight he saw. Like a verse in a song, his auntie Narset used to sing. A song by some Leonin with a weird name like Cohen or something. But then again Uncle Vol told him about a one-eye white leonine planeswalker name Ajani Goldmane, so maybe Cohen is a normal name for cat people.

"Your faith is strong, but you needed proof.

You saw her bathing on the roof.

The beauty and the moonlight overthrew ya."

And that's where the similarity ends. The next verse is something about being a tie to a broken kitchen chair and gets a haircut. If he knows what the hell is _Hallelujah_ means he might understand what the heck is this song about.

But the naked body of Thalia indeed had an effect on the young werewolf. Those developing curves are juicy if the inner wolf spirit inside him has any say. The bird eyes are far sharper than both man and wolf, which means he sees all the details. Considering that birds could see well beyond the ultraviolet range, what Jon had seen was beyond his own belief.

Let alone the thing he heard. Thalia is telling her older and more develop college about him. The difference in the size between them is like night and day.

"He is what! Thirteen?" Said the older woman. "So. You are telling me. Not only he is two years younger than you, but he is also a great fighter trained to be an archmage. If that is not enough, he is fairer than most of the women here. And two of you once fought off a group of vampires."

Thalia, who is about to be completely dressed, nods.

"Well. That sounds really made up. But seeing that you never tell lie before … Fine, I believe you." The older woman smiles. "But you are still hiding something."

Jon could see Thalia winces at the word "lie" and "hiding". _Strange_. What did Thalia could hide about him, really? Their relationship hadn't gone that far.

_It is not like she knows his secret … right?_

"Whatever. Introduce him to me in five years, and not a single moment before, and we are even. I will keep my mouth shut about this." The older woman pokes Thalia's nose. "As amazing as he allegedly is, I have to intension to lay with a boy."

If looks could kill, Thalia would already murder that woman with her eyes alone.

"I am joking! Geez, Thalia. I know you don't like to share." The older woman raises her hand up and laughs. "You do really love him, do you?"

"Nooooo." Thalia is frustrated. Her entire face turns red.

Jon would frown if he could when he heard Thalia's reply. _So that how she thinks of me._ He thought.

"Bullshit. That's a lie when I see one. You are hiding something." The older woman pushes back. "No. You are denying something."

Thalia let out a long sigh. "He and I could never be together." She shakes her head and looks down. Jon could see that she is sad. But he knows that it is not at what she said, but something else.

Something that he needs to know, by any means necessary.

_Ah, the recklessness of youth. Not thinking with their brain. Not the one in their head anyway._

"Damn girl. Let me tell you something, huh. Don't let Lothar's word get you over your head. I mean he is a great man but being his successor doesn't mean you have to be exactly like him."

_Lothar? The current Guardian of Thraben? _Jon ponders. _Then that means Thalia will be the next Guardian?_

"…Surely, you two can keep it a secret. An occasional lover, perhaps. Anything short of he got you pregnant should be fine." The older woman stands up and reaches for the door, not given an opportunity for Thalia to retort. "Anyway. We better get ready. Our day is about to start."

_Pregnant! What the f… _Jon mentally screams

"Jon!" He heard a voice that could **Shatter the Sky**. It doesn't come from what the bird hears.

He knows this, because it is his mother's voice, and she sounds worried. Well, worry is one way to put it.

"Jon!" He heard his mother voice once again. This time even louder than before. His concentration is in shamble. The mental link between him and the possessed raven is broken instantly.

…

"Ouch!" Jon cried and blinked. The suddenness of the process makes him feels like he was hit in the face with a sleigh hammer.

The vision that he sees through his own eyes becomes dominant once again. It had never gone away but when he sees through the raven, it had been put at the back of his head, barely noticeable. Lo and behold, his mother is standing in his face with her arms at her hips.

_Strange._

"Mother. Is everything alright?" Asked confused Jon.

"Is everything alright?" Mocked his mother. Her face tells everything he needs to know. She is at most amused. Amused and annoyed. "What are you doing? Peeking at an innocent girl taking a bath?"

Jon went pale as if he saw ghosts. Well, he saw ghosts before, since He lived in Innistrad. But this time, his face is full of terror. "What! How?"

"You do!" Arlinn raises her voice. Her tone is in between amusement and worry. "Boys will always be boys. When you gain an ability to take over an animal mind, what is the first thing you do? Use it for mischief."

"How did you know that!" Jon panicky yells.

"Well, For one. You have quite a **Giant Growth** in your pants, Jon. Impressive size for your age too, I might add." Arlinn eyes dart downward. She even creepily licks her lips. "So. Which girl do you spying, Jon? Do I know her? …. Wait. It's that young Cathar Thalia isn't it?"

Seeing that Jon starts to panic, Arlinn continues. "It is! Oh, Jon. You scoundrel." She laughs. "I'm not sure should I be proud or discipline you four abusing your power on such a useless matter. At least tell me you learn something."

By this point Jon's entire body becomes flaccid. Whether it is because of shame or embarrassment, only he would know.

Jon tries his hardest to recollect any modesty he still had before opens his mouth to speak. "Thalia is now a member of Lunarch's elite guard. More than that, she is to be Lothar's apprentice. And she knows something about me that she keeps it hidden from others. This will complicate our mission."

His mother raises her brows when she heard his reason. "Elaborate." She commanded.

"Thalia knows something about me. Something that she doesn't want to tell others. Her body gesture doesn't suggest it is something embarrassing. For an orphan raised by the church who doesn't interact much with other people, there are not many things that she should fear. Therefore, I conclude that she might know or suspect something about us more than we first thought." Jon explained. "Lord Sorin would not fuss about us taking it slow, right?"

"Ha. You know nothing, Jon. That old vampire might pretend to care for Innistrad all he wants, but in truth, he will not lift a finger if it doesn't cross his bottom line. Besides, we got what he asked us for. We found out the trespasser motive. No need to go above and beyond. He will not appreciate it." Arlinn pats her young son's head. "As long as you don't go around killing people and bring forth Innistrad's destruction, he will probably leave you alone."

"But that is exactly what we did to get the answer." Jon retorts. "I think between you and me, we murder a few hundred …. Things that night. I still have some bloodstain on my spear."

If you think human blood is hard to wash off. You have no idea how hard to remove a mixture of vampire's, werewolf's, demon's, devil's, and zombie's blood that intermingle with spirit's essence is. That and coupled with how inexperience Jon had in removing evidence of murder, the bloodstain would be there for a long time.

"And I keep telling you to use an extract from bombardier beetle. It removes stains like magic." She pokes his nose. "

"But mother, the beetle stinks. Remember that time we covered ourselves from head to toe with blood and gore and didn't have a chance to shower for three days. We still smell less than when I got sprayed by that accursed bug." Jon complained. "Its essence also burns my skin and eyes."

"YOU SHRUGH OFF A DRAGON FIRE JON! WHAT COULD A LITTLE BUG SPRAY DO TO YOU!" Screams Arlinn. "I say you should stop being a little bitch and man up. A weapon is the warrior's pride and joy. If you don't even responsible enough to keep it clean, how could you tame Thalia."

"MOTHER!" Jon's voice trembles. What kind of logic is that? But then again, the time that he uses conventional logic since he was adopted by his mother can be counted by one hand. And those times it came from other people. There nothing wrong with that though. Before his first planeswalk, he was raised as a bastard without even knowing the name of his mother. His sole existence was a shame. At least with Arlinn and other planeswalkers, he was loved.

"Anyway, you can report what we found to Sorin and wait and see. Liliana's target is still Helvault. It will be best if we can monitor it in the shadow. This way we can go back and forth from here to Tarkir and continue your training." She raises his chin. "These past few days were tense for you. Maybe it is a good time to relax a bit."

"Don't worry about that old vampire. You need to learn that there is a kind of people who will act the opposite of what they said." She sneers. "He protects humans because they are his source of food. As long as the foundation of the church didn't get destroyed, of which I doubt a lone necromancer no matter how powerful she is, could do, we don't have much to worry about."

Listened to his mother, Jon frowned. He remembered vividly that Lord Sorin is very dominating when he issued this order. It was not a kind of dominating that will make you obey by force either. Jon knows how to read between the lines, or at least he thought he was. Sorin's stance screams 'I will turn you into a mindless slave to obey my every whim if you refuse'. And from what he knows of the vampire's magic and personality, he can, and he will. What his mother just said was a complete opposite. So, either his mother is grievously wrong, or he is.

It's probably him. His mother had never led him astray.

What it led to was a slaughter of inquisition forces, turned into a werewolf and set a sept on fire, hunting gigantic games for dragons, fighting other broods of dragon and their mortal clans, losing his virginity without knowing it, upsetting and then befriend bunch of planeswalker, went back to Innistrad to issue a brawl that kill half a town.

So yes, he trusts her decision. Completely.

"Well …." Jon ponders. "How can we continuously observe what's going on in the most fortified city in the most sacred land of Innistrad without being detected by the inquisition? They have a patrol in the countryside every other day. I don't think our cover would still be valid when there are so many archmagi running around. What if someone recognizes you?"

"Bah. You know nothing Jon Snow." She laughs in his face. "Let me tell you about Gavony's worst kept secret. The Moorland."

…

While the werewolf mother and son are talking in a run-down mill, another sinister family is also entertaining a peculiar guest in the Moorland.

Morning comes as dawn about to break. The land beyond Nearhearth is as desolate as the forest of Ulvenwald or the Devil's Breach of Kessig. Spirit does not rest in this place. The light dares not shine upon its shadow. And there two necromancers, a brother and sister, that waging a war against each other.

_What a family time it is._

This means at any time the land would be flooded with zombie killing each other. Therefore, no one in the right mind would willingly come to this place. It is a perfect place for a necromancer to hide. Close enough to Thraben to cause trouble, yet dangerous enough to turn away the righteous eyes of Avacyn's inquisitor.

It's seemed a fairly ordinary morning. It's true that there are dark storm clouds, heavy, black, and pendulous, over a village named Torstad. It's also true that this village is not as abandoned as it seemed. For one, this village has a very distinguishing guess. One could say that she was standing "Out of plane".

It's astounding.

Time is fleeting.

Madness takes its toll.

But listen closely,

For not very much longer.

I got to keep control.

That's because Liliana Vess is standing in front of the door of the only house that contains the living in it, with a small army of zombies at her back. Surrounding her and her minions are even more zombies that she didn't raise. They stare at her with their lifeless eyes.

It was raining heavily as the sky seems to break apart and weeps all it sorrows out. Clearly, the planeswalker doesn't have a good time waiting.

She commands her zombies to knock on the door. She had to admit it was a hasty job she did when the heavy rain arrives. She didn't even have time to select a fine specimen. She didn't know what sort of people these corpses were, but it seems even in death they could still retain an ability to speak, but only in the most inappropriate time.

Had she enough time, she would slaughter few squads of Gavony Riders stationed nearby and raised them as her bodyguard, but beggar can't be choosers.

For what it seems to be an eternity and a half, the door finally flung open. Out came a plain-looking man with short hair. He doesn't wear anything aside from usual stay at home clothes. If someone that doesn't know him would come by, they wouldn't have the slightest clue that he is one of the most terrifying necromancers on Innistrad. Apart from an army of zombies, or in the local term - skaabs, outside, that is.

Of course, he keeps stitching clothes and a pair of goggles in the lab. A renown skaaberen such as himself take hygiene very seriously.

"Hello." He greets.

"Geralf Caeceni I presume?" She smiles. "The rumor didn't do you any justice. You look even better in real life."

A flatter. One the Geralf completely ignores, for his eyes is darting around her curves and alluring body. Oh, and he knows a lot about the human body. His job description is basically stitching them and bring them to un-life. The woman is a necromancer no doubt. Her prowess in raising the dead is even better than his own sister, and a lot better to rest his eyes on.

"You're wet." He comments.

"She's always wet!" Her zombies loudly heckle in unison. They seem to smile for a split second before return to an unemotional posture like they always do.

What a peculiar specimen. Very unique. Unique and useless at the same time.

Liliana sighs. She seems to regret raising this band of idiots. But she would be damned to walk into a village filled with an army of living dead without one such army of her own.

Crossing her arms, she replied. "Yes. It's been raining."

"Yes…." Geralf replies as he stares right into her eyes as if he was looking into her dark and wicked soul. It doesn't help that a lightning bolt decides to strike near the manor. "… I think it's best that you …"

"Fuck off!" Liliana's zombies interrupt in unison before becoming their usual normal zombify self once again.

Ignoring that, Geralf continues. "Come inside."

…

Custom Card of the Chapter

**Name:** Rocky Horror Time Warp

**Mana Cost:** 3UB

**Types:** Instant

**Card Text:**

Target player jump to the left, take a step to the right, with their hand on their hips, bring their knees in tight, do pelvic trusts, and takes an extra turn after this one.

Exile Rocky Horror Time Warp.

**Rarity:** Mythic Rare.


	18. Chapter 18 Worldwaker

**Chapter 18 Worldwaker**

…

"Bloody seven hells"

It is not an inventive curse, Brynden had to admit. He is not pessimistic. At least, he doesn't think that he was. But all the years that he had been alive, he had seen a lot, done a lot, and even regret a few. Yet, there is nothing in his experience that comes close to the clusterfuck that he experiences in recent years. Not even that time in the war of Ninepenny kings can hold a candle to the crisis that they are in.

"Gulltown was sacked and burned. House Grafton is extinct. Ambushes along the road were more frequent than ever before. The minor settlements were raided and the small folks either got killed or captured. Ironoaks is under siege and all their road got barred so we cannot send reinforcement anytime soon."

He sighed. The savage had become more and more difficult to deal with. Even now, the lords of Vale are busy preparing to defend their own land from the attack. With their lord paramount serving as a hand in King's Landing, there is no true leadership among the lords.

Picking up another letter he received from the raven, he continued reading. Every word is like a mace bashing on his head.

"The savage seems to have a new leader. A painted man." A vein is popping out of his wrinkled forehead as his eyes move along the content of the letter. "A survivor said that they sacrifice their captive to the Great White Wolf."

It couldn't be related to _him_, right? The old knight could only ponder. He heard a story about the boy as well as the letter from his niece. It's not a good tale to be told. Had it been true, he dreads to think of the consequence.

"Ser Brynden."

A familiar voice calls out his name is enough to bring him back to reality. Yohn Royce, the lord of Runestone, is an old friend of his. He saw the man raised and brought into knighthood while he was serving at the Bloody Gate. Yohn is an honorable and loyal man. A perfect example for the knight of Vale, an Andals through and through. Even though house Royce hailed from the blood of the first men, they didn't cling to their old false way like the barbarian. Instead, they adapt and integrate into civilization as one should be.

"Lord Yohn." He replied.

"I suppose you heard the news. The mountain clans are getting bolder and bolder every day." Yohn claps the older man's shoulders. "With lord Arryn still in King's Landing, we needed someone to lead us against these savages. I'm calling the other lords for action against these savages and I want you there with me ser. Your experience will be needed in an upcoming battle."

Brynden smiles. The lord of Runestone's words strikes true. For far too long they had remained lenient against these savages. They should have wiped them out a long time ago. Those terrains and lands in the Mountain of Moon might not be profitable, but they might be able to find some uses eventually. As long as they are under control of these barbarians, the people of Vale cannot rest easily.

"Your word is wise, my lord. We had been neglected our duty for far too long and the smallfolk suffer for it. We should assemble a war council as soon as possible."

Soon enough ravens are sent. Many of the lords with the holding near the Eyrie had come alone with Lord Royce, but the gathering of this proportion requires a minor lord as well. All of them need to contribute to rid themselves of the menace. Their entourage decides to stay and rest at the Bloody Gate for a day before ascending to the Eyrie. Soon enough the feast is called, much to Brynden agitation. They need to maintain the supply at the Bloody Gate in case the mountain clans are mad enough to lay siege on it. But that isn't his decision alone to make and offending many lords of Vale at once is not a good thing to do when the land is burning.

He doesn't really care what lord does what, nor even bother to entertain them. Many of them are youngsters who don't know war. They are just eager to have a chance to gain glory without thinking about consequences. Yet when those youngsters come to him for a chat, he didn't turn them away. Sure, he read the report from the scroll. But a word from the local lord and knight is also a good way to access what is going on. He needs to confirm whether what he fears is true.

Knowledge is power after all.

…

"Have you heard the rumor? About Ned Stark Bastard."

Brynden ears twitch as a young annoying knight try to initiate a conversation. What a pathetic attempt of curtesy that was. Of course, he heard the rumor. The mountain clan made it clear about what they did. Of why they attack. As absurd as it was, all the words from the survivors were the same. The Old Gods are coming, and the White Wolf will be their vanguard. Nonsense. All of it.

"Yes. From what I heard; it is said that Lady Stark prayed to Seven to take the boy's life. They said that this is the Old Gods' retaliation." Said another knight who he doesn't personally know. Probably a second or third son of some minor lord, or something.

If he was a mere hedge knight, he would knock that fool's teeth out. In fact, he will check that right now. Actually, if he is a second or third son of an insignificant house, he would still knock the fool's teeth out.

Brynden loudly coughs. It is deep and full of malice. Once is more than enough to silence the surrounding.

"So." Brynden breaks a short-lived silence. He turns and stares right into the fool's eyes. "From the way you talk, you must know a great deal about the problem we currently face, Ser?"

"Lucas Cobray. Third son of late lord Cobray at your service, Ser. It is a pleasure to make an acquaintance with a knight of great renown such as you, The Blackfish himself..."

The fool bows half-way before his face collide with Brynden's fist. The fool's face is sullen with a red imprint of a gauntlet fist. Blood seeps from the fool's mouth. Good for him. Had he continued to speak, Brynden might not just settle with a punch.

"Not only you are saying that my niece for killing an eight years old boy, but also blame her for the death of thousands, smallfolk's and nobles alike?"

The fool staggers back as a cold sweat form on his forehead. His eyes dilate. His hairs erect. A mere sight of angry Blackfish is more than enough to make him halfway shitting himself. He had overstepped his position, said too much, assumed too much.

"Hmph!" He snorts. "I suggest you choose your next word carefully. Ser Cobray."

So much for finding out the truth from these fools. Not that he thought he would gain something more, but he doesn't expect an insult to his family. Not from his fellow knights no matter how much of a fool they were.

Sometimes Brynden wonders what their family did to make the situation end up like this. Sure, Holster selling his daughter like a broodmare to gain more influence was a great strategic move but unwise. Before the rebellion, there was gossip about how the quiet wolf won over the heart of the fairest maiden of the realm. Eddard Stark and Ashara Dayne. Clearly, the northerner's heart is not with Catelyn, especially it was his older brother that is the one who is betrothed to her.

Of course, he would sire a bastard. Had he been put into the same situation; he might do the same. Lucky for him, he stood his ground and told Holster to go fuck himself back then.

But if that is so, wouldn't it mean that the bastard is Ned's firstborn. That explains a lot, considering that Ned defeated and Killed Arthur Dayne when he tried to rescue his sister, causing Ashara to hurl herself from the tower out of grief. That's why he needed to take the boy back with him. The boy would not last a day if Ned left him with the Daynes.

It all makes sense. Why he insists on keeping the boy in Winterfell. Why he refuses to speak about the boy's mother. How he acts out of character against the Kraken after the boy died. Perhaps deep in his mind, he thought that we forced him apart from the woman he loved.

It takes Brynden all he has at that moment to resist smiling from what he thought he figured out. He needs to assert more dominance to show that House Tully is not the one to be fucked with. Not even in Vale.

Alas, everything will be much simpler had he not read the latest letter that Catelyn sent to him. He once thought that she was the smartest of the three. Edmure is a bumbling fool that he is sure. Lysa … Lysa is delusional. Catelyn, he thought, was a perfect lady. Smart. Attentive. Strong. Apparently, he was gravely wrong. Even though he read it only once before throwing it in the fire, he still remembers every detail of it.

…

How long ago he received this letter, he didn't know. Cat had sent him quite a few lately and every single one of them was more troubling than the last.

…

Dear Uncle,

At this moment, our house words are needed more than ever.

Family. Duty. Honor.

You are my last hope, uncle. Everyone else had abandoned me.

Lysa doesn't answer a single raven. Edmure has stopped writing to me for months. Father's last letter told me to sort it out myself.

I cannot take it anymore, uncle. Every moment I spent up north is another moment I am insulted. Everything changes so much after the bastard died. Ned refuses to let it go. The North refuses to let it go.

It is all that bastard fault. Even in death, he cursed me. He clouded Ned's mind and turns the north against me. Even now he turns the savage clan of the Vale against you. He is coming for me, uncle. He is coming for us all.

The situation here is grim, uncle. These savages are being more and more daring. They refuse to yield, uncle. They refuse to let another sept be built. No septons dares to cross the neck anymore.

'The world is heading right into fucking seven hells' He reminded himself.

Even the Manderleys betrays to help me. They turn away from the light of the seven, uncle. I cannot send my letter directly to the High Septon. It is too suspicious. I hope you can do what I couldn't.

I had never been more of a stranger in my own home. Every eyes in the castle look at me like I don't belong here. The last time I sent you a letter, you told me that time will heal this wound, uncle. It doesn't.

Five years, uncle. Five long years that Ned even refuses to share the bed with me. Not even when I ask him to. He rarely spent time alone with me for years. He became cold and detach. His eyes are lifeless.

It pains me every time I have to answer my children why their father never smiles? Why does he brood all the time? Why does he keep ignoring them? Every question they ask is like a dagger stab into my heart, uncle.

I'm afraid that Robb is starting to take after Ned, uncle. I need to get him away from here. Perhaps you can take him as your squire.

Other children don't fare much better, uncle. Since the day Septa Mordaine died, I cannot hide anyone to fill the position. Without her help, I'm afraid that my girls will be no more different than a wildling. I need them to be a proper lady, uncle. Perhaps a foster in Riverrun, the Eyrie or Highgarden would do them good, but I'm afraid Ned would not allow me.

It pains me to send my children away, uncle, but I need to get them away from here lest they turn on me too.

I need your help now more than ever, uncle. I need our family more than ever. I hope you can convince them. Make father do anything in your power to make Ned agree. Threaten to cut North food supply or something. Please, I beg of you.

We have to do something. If only Ned would see reason. If everyone could see reason as I do.

Your niece, Catelyn Stark.

…

"Bloody seven hells." Said Brynden before he tosses the letter to the flame.

…

As a shitstorm is brewing over Westeros, a thunderstorm is brewing in a nearby plane. It blots out the sun as the light dares not shine over the land. But then again, such a thing is common in Innistrad, especially in the Moorland of Gavony.

Besides, there is a much more interesting event happening in the area than just another thunderstorm.

Two infamous necromancers are parleying. A man and a much older woman. One is soaked and wet because of the rainstorm. Another is dry in his casual suit, but not expecting any living company today. Neither of them is amused.

The male necromancer house is somewhat cozy and ironically lively. Considering that no one but Geralf lives in this area, well no one alive anyway, there is not much attempt to hide anything. She sees a jar of preserved spleen being used as a paperweight. She notices candle handles made from dried hand. She even spots a hollowed-out skull being used as an ashtray. Quite romantic and good for the environment at the same time, when you think about it.

Liliana has to say, she is impressed by his dedication to organized things. Too bad that spending time with a stitcher would bring many disastrous side effects to one body, literally. Liliana would not want to wake up with extra limbs or another pair of breasts.

In short, his kind of necromancy is not her kind of necromancy. Seriously, what's wrong with just raising the dead without adding bits and pieces to them.

She doesn't have to wait long before Geralf's unliving serf to bring her a clean towel to dry herself. Clean … in the place is a relative term. If one would like to have a piece of cloth that absolutely no germs on it, then yes, it is clean. But that because Geralf soaked it in an unknown poison concoction that kills the germ so hard they don't dare to land on it again. Even when it dry, it still stinks like hell.

Well, beggar can't be choosers. When an evil genius hand you a stinky clean cloth for you to dry yourself, you take it.

Liliana undoes her tiara and starts wiping her hair. She seductively flicks her hair by instinct as the cloth goes past her face. As her arms raise up as she rubs her neck area dry, her elbows' movement jiggles her breast.

Geralf only rolls his eyes at the sight he saw. This is too obvious. Very suspicious … and nice. He doesn't have a lot of interaction with anything living lately, let alone a bombshell such as the visiting necromancer.

After she finishes with her neck area, she gives the cloth a wring. Then she continues downward. The dress she wears leaves her chest area mostly uncovered, and she enjoys dragging the cleaning cloth over her flesh. She even stuffs it in between her breasts.

She is overdoing it so much it starts to get awkward. The male necromancer soon found that the situation is not the only thing that is hard.

Liliana couldn't do much against her damped dress, but that what the enchantment in her fabric is for. It should dry out quickly enough. Seeing no point in teasing the man, she hands the cloth back to the zombie serf.

_Zomberf? Zerf? Whatever._

"I believe I didn't quite catch your name, frau?" The stitcher eyes her with a sinister hunger. He squints and analyses a gorgeous specimen in front of him, then move on to her entourage. They were a ragtag group of zombies, even though quite a unique one. Must be some stupid marching troupe morrons that he heard a rumor about. What sort of fools would travel to Thraben from Kessig via the Moorland when there are much safer routes? In fact, all of them are safer. Even he wouldn't do it, and that a lot when he is part of the problem why.

"Liliana. Liliana Vess." She gestures her hand forward for him to kiss. Any plane that has necromancer should be civilized enough to know this universal gesture.

Geralf, in spite of well aware of the gesture, gives her a handshake instead. "I'm afraid I couldn't kiss your hand frau Vess. Not only it is not sanitary, but it's also old fashion, archaic even. The only group that is still doing it are the vampires, but then again you will probably get sucked dry afterward."

Liliana rolls her eyes. Progressive bastard.

Trying to relieve the dynamic tension, Geralf asks, "Ja. Ja. What brings a fine necromancer like you to my domain? Let me guess. You wish to participate in the Necrowarfare, didn't you? A three-way between you, my sister, and I would be glorious." Geralf claps his hand for another serf to bring in some refreshment which is more akin to a disinfectant than a drink. "I suppose you know the rules. No directly attacking headquarters, no ambush, no spontaneous awakening, etcetera, etcetera."

"No. But even if I was, I would not word it that way." Liliana replied. "I, however, have an offer you might not want to refuse."

"Oooooooooh" Geralf raises his brows. "I appreciate the offer…. However, you and my sister are too alike for my taste. No offense, of course, but I appreciate a necromancer with more … scientific pursuit." The stitcher tilts his head toward the stairs. "Besides, I've been making a woman …. With blonde hair and a tan. And she is good for reliving my t-t-t-t-t-tension."

Liliana raises her brows. She doesn't know whether to be impressed or creeped out by his statement.

"Why don't you come up to the lab…. And see what on the slab." He turns away and flicks his hand for her to follow him. When he reaches the stair, he turns toward her.

Liliana's face becomes deadpan and she replies with one word. "No."

"Nein?" Geralf's head snaps back.

"No." She reassures. "No. No. No. and for the last time. No."

"Why not?"

"I do not come here to see your fetish, Geralf. I want to attack Thraben but I am not greedy enough to hog all the fun for myself."

She could see a sinister smile dawns on his face as soon as she finishes her sentence.

"Ach So! Why don't you say it in the first place? I am dreaming of that as well. Hmmm. The great mind thinks alike indeed."

…

At the two necromancers hammering out the details of their sinister plan, two werewolves that are hidden in plain sight encounter something that troubling them. Their journey toward the Moorland is slow. They sensed something amiss in the air. Something that seems out of place. Something primal. At first, they thought it would be the necromancer they are tracking, but they soon discard the notion as soon as they look closer.

The nearby wolf pack is restless. It is as if something is wresting their total control over the beasts from them. Something, or someone.

Furthermore, they found something they could describe as a site of a battle. The side of the road is littered with a mound of corpses. The werewolves had seen a slaughter site before, but this one is different.

"Something is wrong here, mother." Said Jon. "These are not freshly dead. The corpses are old. Very old. Many of them are already half-rotten."

His mother nods. "That is quite obvious, isn't it?" his mother smiles. "I trained you better than that, Jon. Look harder. What more do you see?"

"The bodies are hacked and smashed with an overwhelming force. An ax perhaps, albeit a very large one wielded by a very large man." Jon crouches down and examines the footprints that he found. "The footprint is deep, which means the man in heavy. The size of his feet indicates that he is massive in size. Body size, I mean."

"Only body? Hmm."

"I'm not sure the size of his cock would have anything to do with this, mother." Jon annoyingly replied. "It is highly unlikely that he swings it around as a weapon."

"Well, if he does, Avacyn saves us all." His mother laughs. "So, from your conjecture, what happened?"

Jon scratches his chin and goes deep into his think tank. He lists all the clues in his head and links them together. He might not be the sharpest blade in the armory, but he was not a slouch either. Years of training and hardship he suffered from his instructors and planeswalking family had honed him into a great hunter.

"This should be a fight between a giant man and a cabal of necromancers if a sheer amount of the dead indicates anything. None of body found is freshly dead, so all of them walked out of this alive."

An ambush perhaps. The quality of corpses varies, which means the necromancers didn't prepare an army for this ambush, so the one who initiates the fight is the large man. The necromancers raised the dead in haste and sought to use them to overwhelm the large man while they themselves escaped.

However, there is also a chance that it wasn't a cabal of necromancers at all, but a very powerful lone necromancer. Our target, Liliana Vess, fits that criterion. If that is so, the one that is hunting her would be Garruk that lady Tamiyo told us about."

"Well done, Jon." His mother claps her hand. "I could not put it better myself. I'm proud of you."

"Thank you, mother." He smiles. His eyes gleam in adoration. The praise is nothing to him, but the recognition from his parent means a plane to him. "I learned from the best."

"Oh, stop it you!" his mother waves it off. Her humbleness is very uncanny, but pleasing, nonetheless.

"I'm talking about Uncle Vol and Auntie Narset." He smirks and dodges his mother's spear that she swung at him. "You have to be faster than that, mother. I'm twice as quick since the last time."

*Whack*

Jon had learned indeed, but he didn't prepare for the follow-up. It struck him right on his face and sent him face-first to the ground. Lucky for him, his mother hit him with a butt of her spear. It was a tongue and cheek hit aimed for teasing, not harm. Had she used the bladed tip; his face would already have a hole in it.

"Twice the pride, double the fall." She laughs. "You should remember that as well, Jon."

Jon stands up and wipes the dust off him. It's hurt like a bitch, but compare to his training lately, it was nothing. "Anyway. If that is so, it would complicate things for us. I assume that this Garruk would not appreciate a hunting competition."

"Bah." His mother snorts. "Screw that Jon. A true wolf guard its hunting ground. Assemble the pack. We have one hell of a fight ahead of us."

…

**Custom Card of the Chapter**

**Name:** Discordant Letter (Help-fixed by airistal)

**Mana Cost**: 5

**Type:** Artifact

**Card Text:** At the beginning of each end step, each player discards a card, then put a omen counter on Discordant Letter.

3, T, Sacrifice Discordant Letter: Draw three cards, then discard for each omen counter on Discordant Letter.

**Flavor Text: **"Bloody Seven Hells"

**Rarity:** Common


	19. Chapter 19 Untouched by Death

**Chapter19 Untouched by Death **

As always, comments and reviews are highly appreciated.

…

The hunt had begun.

The wood is dead silent. The wind refuses to blow. The sun ignorantly shines upon the sky without any shame. Evening comes quickly as it could. So does a pack of wolves and their alphas.

They tread carefully through the plain. The Moorland is nothing but dangerous even to werewolves such as them. Alone, it would not deter them much, but their prey is even more so dangerous. For all the years she had been a werewolf, Arlinn had hunted beasts and men alike. But this time is different. Their prey is different. For once, they are hunting another hunter.

A muscle with legs.

A self-proclaimed apex predator.

A murdering fuckhead who wrestles a baloth in his workout routine.

The man, the myth, the legend. Garruk Wildspeaker.

Only the planeswalker with a death wish would want anything to do with him. Most don't even know he was after them before he appears in front of their face, which was likely their last moment.

But then again, Jace always have highly complicated failproof plans had he didn't often mindwipe himself, Liliana always has a horde of zombies ready, and Arlinn's logic is far from conventional.

Jon, on the other hand, is dragged into this mess without any say. Even if half of the story he heard was true, He would rather damn himself for eternity than let his mother faces that monster alone. His mother is powerful, yes, but, so does Garruk.

If he had learnt anything about how to interact with planeswalker, it is that there is always someone stronger than you. It only takes one slip, only one mistake, only one underestimation, for everything to be over. The multiverse is immeasurable and wild, and there is always a predator for your kind. Death is final even more so when you can leave the plane of existence, well for most anyway.

_And by most, it means when a plot narrative is relevant. Rest in peace Venser._

They are close. Jon can feel it. His sense overwhelms him of the danger from this prey. His instinct tells him to stay away. Strange. He hadn't had this feeling when he fought regent dragons on Tarkir, but then again that time he had another regent dragon on his side.

As strong as he is, Garruk is just a man. A powerful beyond normal understanding planeswalker, but a man, nonetheless. He shouldn't be a greater threat than a fully-grown dragon. Right?

Oh, he will soon learn how wrong he was.

"Ready yourself, Jon. Any closer and he would hear us. We move in with uttermost silence." Arlinn crouches down and sniffs the track. She raises her hand and points toward the scent. Wherever she points, the wolves follow. "Take a quarter of the pack with you. Wait for him to single me out then move in to flank them. Hammer and Anvil. I will keep him occupied for you to strike. Remember, hit him with everything you got. Even if he didn't die, he should be injured enough for us to overwhelm him."

"But mother…" Jon protests. "It's not honorable. I should be by your side so we can defeat him together."

"There is no honor in the hunt! I will not let you fight him in close combat. You are not ready." His mother shuts him down. "He is far stronger than we combined. I taught you to fight men and hunt beasts. Not this. He is stronger than any man you ever face and smarter than any beast we ever hunted. He also has access to the same mana source we have."

"Then why are we facing him again?" Jon tightens his grip on his spear. "We could just stalk him and swoop in to take the necromancer."

"Because …." Arlinn's head snap. "Innistrad is our hunting ground. This is our home. We cannot let another predator get away with hunting is our turf. We cannot show weakness, Jon. The multiverse will not allow as such."

Arlinn sneers at a nearby wolf. The beast nods and assumes a crouching stance. She then glances back at Jon and doesn't like what she saw.

"Come on. Don't be discourage. There is more to a hunt than pure strength. Think of it as a challenge you need to overcome. Only when we face danger, wolves like us could grow."

It's not that he is doubting her intention. No. He never doubts his mother's intention on anything. He knows she had his best interest at heart. Always. Well, excluding during her succulent hobbies, that is.

It's the procedure that he has no confidence on. There are so many things that can go wrong. One slip and they are in deep trouble. One mistake and he might lose everything he had.

A fight between two planeswalkers is too unpredictable. His mother's fight with Sorin a few years prior is tantamount to that. Everything could be decided in a mere moment. He doesn't want to lose her, let alone die himself.

He squints his eyes and grabs his spear even tighter. His heart beats heavy. His tongue is restless inside his mouth. The wolf spirt inside is getting restless. It yearns for a fight. His blood is boiling with anticipation. His self-consciousness is freaking out too. It tells him to just turn and run away.

A beast wants to fight, but a man wants to run. Which part of him should he support?

"Jon!" He heard his mother's voice calling him. "Do you trust me?"

"Always. Mother. Always." He replied.

"Then trust me that we will succeed." She looks at him longingly.

There is a silent understanding between them. They look into each other eyes and peer into each other soul.

"Alright then. I will do as you told, mother." Jon nods and pauses. He looks down and sighs, then looks back up again. "Please. Promise me that you will be safe."

As if she was taken aback, Arlinn's mount is opened wide. Her breath stops in shock. Then she smiles. "I promise, Jon. I promise."

…

While Jon is conversing with his mother, an elder dragon is silently observing within the deepest recess of his mind.

'OOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooo' Its non-existence brows lift up. 'This is getting interesting.'

A fight is about to begin. It will be one hell of a fight too. A battle between planeswalkers are not a thing to be overlook. Even severely weaken as they are after the mending, their ability from drawing a mana directly from the plane is nothing to be scorn at.

And if the happen before the mending, Vaevictis would not be able to scheme at all. One planeswalker is enough to deal with him even when he is at the zenith of his power.

He still remembers that Ur-dragon damned Faralyn and his transmogrify. May his soul suffer for all eternity.

'Let see how well they fight. It will not be too late to help him at the last moment and bargain for more control of the body. Good. Good. It would not be obvious. A bloodline awakening would be a plausible explanation everyone goes to.' His not existence smile widens. 'No one would be a wiser.'

Vaevictis Asmadi knows that he needs to be careful about this. He could not let the boy's mother die, of course. Her death would push the boy toward Ugin and his minions, and that would cause too much of a problem. Having the boy stay at arm length from Ugin is a dangerous game he played. Of course, he would not be discovered if he didn't give his cousin any reason to look. But if the she-wolf dies, then Ugin might take the boy under his wings. By then, things will be unpredictable, and he couldn't afford that.

It's best if she is severely wound so she would draw all the attention.

'An apex predator of the multiverse. What a joke. If this foolish druid still alive when I'm out again, he will be the first one to know the true meaning of an apex predator.'

His non-existence claws scratch his non-existence chin. He needs to gather his power beforehand. The battle would be fierce and unpredictable. Like a coin toss, no one would know how it's going to end.

And while the dragon plots, the wolf spirit stalks and bidding its time. He pays the mutt no attention. For what can a mere lone wolf do when an elder dragon rules the sky.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

…

The frustration is unbearable. His prey had escaped him again. That makes it twice since he came to this accursed plane. It even worse that this time he almost had her. It was only one ax swing away. So close, yet so far.

Garruk Wildspeaker is not happy. In fact, he had never been happy. Ever since Shandalar, he found himself unable to rest. Dark whisper clouded his mind. It promises him of power had he gave it control.

Of course, he didn't surrender to its lie. He is goddamn Garruk Wildspeaker, and he had it with these mother fucking curse from the mother fucking veil!

Still, hunting down the necromancer is easier said than done. The hunt took him across the multiverse. He had to go to Ravnica! Sodding Ravnica!

That accursed plane-sized city is an antithesis of everything he stood for. He wishes nothing more than the plane's absolute annihilation, but he couldn't be bothered to do it himself. No number of beasts he could rally would allow it to happen.

But now, the whisper is getting stronger. His body feels less like his own by the minute. It is like he is looking through someone else eyes.

And it makes him rages even more. He wants to kill something. Anything. It doesn't matter whether it is alive or dead. He just wants to sink his ax into something and tear it apart with his hand.

Lo and behold, there is one coming right now. Perfect. He could use a fight.

'I hope this one would not disappoint.'

The wind fell silent as Garruk tightly grips his ax. Something is not right. The pack doesn't answer his call as it should.

No that is not how it really went.

The packs answer his call. The answer is NO!

Fine then, he will summon his own pack. _But not with blackjacks and hookers, they are not natural._

Man-sized beasts emerge from thing air as Innistrad mana condenses into a shape per Garruk memories. This is the ability of most planeswalker shared but is rarely used. The reason? Fuck if he knows. But then again, not many had experience in leading a pack as he has.

_Just as Richard Garfield intended._

*HOWL*

Garruk's head snaps and rocks backward just in time to dodge an incoming spear by a hair length. The spear was fast. Way too fast to be thrown by any man. Its impact rocked the ground with it landed and sent a mud high to the air.

Cursed. The thunderstorm masked the smell, that he knew. He thought it would hide him from his prey before it is too late, not the other way around.

Taken a deep breath, Garruk let out a bellowing cry. The air echoes with the power from his lungs. His beasts roar in response. Their scream shatters the silence of the Moorland apart. It struck fear in the heart of all the living in the area. All except those who are attacking him.

Out from the shadow emerges a woman and her pack of wolves. Interesting. Her pack outnumbers his five to one. Ha. There is the first time for everything he supposed.

Before Garruk could react, the woman struck. Her eyes light up as magic gathers in her hand. She darts forward with superhuman speed and lunges herself at him. Her mouth opens and lets out a terrifying howl. No words were spout but the message got across all the same. The woman, this planeswalker, is the plane's native, and he is intruding on her hunting ground.

Smile dawn on Garruk's face. He finds this amusing. 'Her hunting grounds. _Fool! Garruk hunt as he pleases!_'

He swings his ax to intercept this arrogant pretender but found his arms stopping midway. Chains of light smash upon his body and hold him in place. The restriction was placed on his limbs as the chains pull tighter and tighter.

A **Luminous Bond.** Basic utilization of white mana commonly used by hieromancer and the like. Simple, yet effective.

Even with his immense strength, he couldn't break this chain by force. He could supplement his power with green mana but so does his attacker with white. Such is a fight between planeswalker.

Garruk grunts as he struggles to get out of the hold. Before he could do anything else, though, his attacker slams her feet right across his chest. It sends him flying across the moor and lands fifty meters away. His packs move in to protect him but got intercepts by the wolves. One on one, they would not be any problem. His beast would tear down these wolves, even as unnaturally big as they are, like it made from wet clay. But five on one? Nah, this would be a problem.

The woman picks up her spears and readies herself for his counterattack. Smart. Almost too smart. She must have known that he could break the bond and caught her off guard had she continues her assault.

It is the first time he is being hunted. It had been a long time since he fought with another humanoid, the damned necromancer excluded.

Garruk connects himself to the nearby forest and taps deep into the plane's green mana. He funnels the green mana directly to the chains of light that bind him. The bondage is broken in an instant.

**Naturalize**. Basic utilization of green mana _and a big fuck you to all enchantment and artifact._

The woman readied her stance. Her spear held high at the neck level as her body slightly lowered. This is not just another brute with a pack. This is a skilled fighter who hones her skills through blood and steel.

He raises his ax to counter her stance. The shaft is rested on his shoulder as the ax head is extruded toward his back, hiding it from his opponent's view. His knees slightly bent, lowering his center of gravity enough to be effective.

It is a standoff. An Ixilan standoff.

Garruk squints. His mind analyses and predicts what his assailant would do. She would probably think him a brute due to his sheer size. He could use that to his advantage and catch her off guard.

'If she thinks I am a brute then … She would try to out speed me. She is using spear, so she will try to keep distance.' Thought Garruk as he channels more and more green mana toward his muscles.

He aims to end this in one swing. He expects to see her surprised face when her spear struck true, but he didn't die. Right before he cleaved her in half, of course.

But he couldn't be more wrong.

…

The hunt is going just as planned for Arlinn Kord. Her wolves keep Garruk's panther-deer-boar, whatever the beasts are called, occupied. She caught the brute attention. The trap is set, and it is about time she springs it. Just a little bit more.

'That stance. He will try to catch me off guard after my hit land.' Arlinn realized. 'He thinks I will rely on my speed. Typical brute.'

Gripping her spear tight, Arlinn summons her power. Her psyche taps into nearby mountains and forests and draws red and green mana into her muscles and bones. The wolf spirit roils in excitement. With mana enhancing her body, she could match Garruk's strength, speed, and then some.

With a silent challenge, she lunges herself forward. Her spear, ever ready to strike at her target, points toward his heart. Her arms cock back as she blitzes toward Garruk like a … well, wolf lunging at its prey.

With her speed, Arlinn becomes a blur and reaches her opponent in less than a second. She trusts her weapon right before she enters Garruk's attack range. The spear strikes true as she sees her opponent coming for her head with the corner of her eyes.

As the ax blade cleaves through the air, it saturates with black mana so strong she could dread. Aren't Garruk a druid-shaman? Then how could he be able to use such dark power? Did Tamiyo's information wrong?

*HOWL*

The coming of the ax's blade seems inevitable. The momentum can't be overcome. Physic doesn't work that way, neither does their magic. She could see the man smile beneath the helmet. Good. This is within the scope of her expectations.

Arlinn let go of her spear and dugs under Garruk's arm. The momentum it carried allows it to shallowly embed on the brute's shoulder. Her body forcefully twisted as furs rapidly grows on her body. A rapid transformation makes her body bends to an impossible angle, which in turn allows her to dodge by a hair length. Her elongated arms then snap and catch the brute's own, effectively holding him in place.

"JON! NOW!"

…

The opportunity presents itself soon enough. His mother's plan works. Garruk's beast might be bigger, tougher, and more savage but they had numbers on their side. His flanking attack had gone unnoticed, but he caught the beasts off guard all the same. The path is clear to the target. The brute's back is turned toward him. All he needs is a signal from his mother.

"JON! NOW!" howled his mother as she transformed out of her harm way.

*ROAR*

Jon let out his bellowing warcry. He jumps out from the shadow and darts across the battlefield with a speed of lightning. His dragon blood boils with excitement. It yearns to be let loose and let loose he will. He had one chance. One opportunity to make this work.

Red, Black, and Green mana surge through his body. The lessons he learnt from Ugin and Uncle Vol had paid off. Bloodfire, vitalfire, and deathfire burn within him, ready to be unleashed. His majestic spear hums and shakes uncontrollably, as if it came alive.

Seeing that Garruk is unprotected, and his defense is compromised by Arlinn, Jon trusts his weapon forward with all his might. It pierces through dense flesh, breaks his ribs, tears a hole in his lung, the tip comes out the other side, and the shaft struck halfway through. Had it been any other man, planeswalker or not, he would already be dead.

But Garruk is a genetic freak. Pumping green and black mana into his body is what keeps him going. With the right application of magic, a mortal wound is downgraded into a mere flesh wound. The brute doesn't even flinch at his pain. Instead, he screams in frustration and wrests his arms away from Arlinn claws, lifts them up, and smashes right at her shoulders. The mana enhanced crushing blow catch the werewolf by surprise and made her collapse on the ground. He then turns toward Jon with bloodshot eyes.

Clearly, Garruk doesn't appreciate a spear through his chest.

*ROAR*

So, Jon greets him with dragon fire. It is a **Draconic Roar **that intends to destroy everything in its path.

The flame burns bright and lit up the Moorland. The darkness of the twilight recedes and hides away in fear. The streams keep coming as Jon's rage grows. His dragon blood boils to its limit. It wants to destroy this insolent dreg of the multiverse that stands in its way. Ever fueling his emotion, the blood grants him more power and take more control of his decision.

While the dragon fire is burning outside, Inside Jon's psyche, the elder dragon smiles. Everything went according to his plans. Even better than what he originally planned in fact. The boy even willingly let his power overtake him as soon as he saw the she-wolf on the ground. Vaevictis Asmadi nonchalantly inserts more of his influence on his host mind. This is too easy.

Almost too easy indeed. Had Jon not sense his target still standing strong, he would think that too. However, his instinct told him that his opponent is unscathed. He senses that Garruk somehow successfully protected himself from the fire.

Had his mother wasn't behind the man, he would increase the intensity of his flame until there is nothing left but ash. Alas, he is not that heartless.

…

Garruk is pissed. Very pissed. His lung got punctured. There is a spear lodging on his chest. And he is getting burnt by a little boy, probably of the werewolf that attacked him. How can a werewolf breath fire anyway? Even so, his head would make a fine trophy, and her skin would make a fine cloak.

He could have been turned to ash too had he didn't cast **Fog** spell in time. He had been really lucky that he already saturated green mana on his skin right after the moment he got sneak attacked. From his quick calculation, he could keep it up for another few seconds.

If he was to fight the boy face to face, he would not give the boy a chance to unleash this kind of devastating spell. Alas, he got caught in a well-laid trap.

Well. It's time to break out of it.

Channeling even more black mana from the nearby swamps into his ax, Garruk creates a protective ward of destruction against the flame. The fire is intense and immensely powerful, he gives the boy that, but it also contains a major flaw. This flame is a channeling spell. If he could break the boy's concentration, the power behind his spell would backfire. All he needs to do is to shorten the gap and everything would be over. He could take care of the she-wolf afterward.

Too bad for him, the she-wolf is tougher than he expected and just wait for the moment to strike again.

…

**Custom Card of the Chapter**

**Card Name:** Double Team

**Mana Cost:** 1G

Type: Instant

**Card Text:** Up to two target creatures your control each fight target creature you don't control.

**Flavor Text:**

"I don't think your meaning of double team matches ours, Arlinn." – Narset

"Well, I'm not complaining." - Sarkhan Vol

**Rarity:** Common


	20. Chapter 20 Voice of the Pack

**Chapter 20 Voice of the Pack**

**This chapter took me a lot longer than I expected. I have to rewrite some parts many times to what I think captures the changes in the character's mental capacity. It was quite a fun thought process, actually. I hope you like it.**

**Well, that and COVID-19 quarantine. I started and finished Salt&Sanctuary, a Beastmen campaign on Total War Warhammer 2, and drafted more Ikoria on MTGA than I should have.**

**Mutate is a bonkers mechanic and I have a fun time drafting it. Standard Meta, on the other hand, is insane.**

***Just realized I misspelled Sarkhan Vol as Val for all the chapters. My bad. My bad. - 28/4/2020**

…

**Q&A **

**Guest:** Well Catelyn did pray for Jon's death so the guy was kinda right. Man, I would love to see Brynden face if Catelyn would confess that she did pray for Jon death.

Well, being right doesn't mean you won't get a punch in the face. Catelyn will probably never confess on her own. I have something else planned though.

...

This ambush couldn't go more wrong. With a spear through his chest, how in the name of Avacyn could Garruk still stand?

And how could he still retain this much strength? Does the addition of black mana grant him such an ability to defy death?

Anyway, if that brute thinks she would allow him to harm her precious snowy pup, he would be for a surprise. Ironically, werewolf Arlinn doesn't fuck around.

It is so easy to her ground when Garruk solely focuses on Jon. Her muscle tightens, her ears erect, her eyes turn sharp. With one swift movement, she readies herself for a pounce. As her feet touch the ground, she summons whatever mana she could get. As she expected, the mana available is scared and she finds it hard to contend with the other two.

But that's doesn't matter, she is getting what she needs for the job anyway.

*HOWL*

Arlinn's body becomes a blur as she rushes the exposed back of her opponent. Red mana floods her claws, enhancing its edge to a razor-sharp and making it eager to rend Garruk's thick hide.

No matter how strong he enhances it, the flesh is still flesh. She might not tear him apart in one strike. She might not tear off a chunk of his shoulder. But that is not her goal. She doesn't need much, just enough to disrupt his concentration. Jon's fire will do the rest of the heavy lifting.

How her little pup capable of unleashing that amount of fire? It is still beyond her. During their time with Atarka clan, she had yet to see one seasoned shaman capable of such feat. Not even that little brat Sakta.

Speaking of Sakta. Good things that she remains on Tarkir. Had she known about Innistrad and Thalia, it would be a great show to watch. Probably not for her clueless pup, but it would be for everyone else.

Arlinn's speed is unmatched in this battle, as her claws reach its target before Garruk could even notice. The bladed nails cut through leather armor with ease but meet with heavy resistance from Garruk's flesh. In the end, it could only cause a shallow wound, but that is enough to break the brute's concentration.

To add an insult to injury, she reaches for the lodged spear with her paws, slams her foot on his rear, and yanks the weapon with all her might. The spear flies free. The hole that is used to pluck is rapidly replaced by the fountain of blood that is so severely tainted if she had not mistaken.

'So that's what keeps him alive. No matter, the wound should be enough to break the brute's concentration.'

With a ward disrupted, Jon fire sears to Garruk's body without any resistance. The intensity of the flame is drowned out only by Garruk's scream of pain. Finally, they had one. The ambush is a success. It might not be flawless, but a success, nonetheless.

OR NOT.

The tainted blood coagulates as soon as it touches air. Even she doesn't have any affinity to black mana, she could feel the sheer amount of its movement toward the wound. The hole shrinks quickly as all life, be it grass or soil, are drained empty. Instead of dying, Garruk becomes stronger than before.

Well. Shit.

…

Meanwhile, the mother wolf is about to realize how wrong her judgment was when they pick a fight with Garruk, her little pup is having a peculiar self-discovery.

The strains of channeling an immense amount of mana to cast **Dragon Roar** is something Jon never got used to, and he thinks he never will. Every time he uses it, something inside him awakens and tries to wrest control of his body. Vaevictis Asmadi told him it is his dragon blood that wants to be in control, but even he doubts that was all it is.

Yet, now everything seems easier. He feels no resistance when he unleashes the spell. Something must have changed, but he doesn't know what it is. And that makes him uneasy.

Too bad he cannot afford to be uneasy at the moment. He is too busy burning another planeswalker who, beyond his understanding, is defying death time and time again, right now.

*HOWL*

He recognizes the howl and feels proud. He knows that his mother wouldn't fall that easily, but he couldn't help but worry about her when Garruk slammed her to the ground. Now the brute is occupied by his flame, he would be totally defenseless against her attack.

'Checkmate, probably'. He doesn't understand the concept of chess, but the adults said it what to say when you win that game. That must mean something.

Even as prepared as he is, he doesn't expect his mother to yank the spear free from Garruk's chest. It was brutal to the extreme. Garruk black blood is everywhere as it jets upward and rains down the sky. How could a man, no matter how giant, could have this much blood? And why is it black?

Jon concentrates his fire. His instinct tells him not to touch the black liquid. His commonsense agrees. Nothing good would come from it. So, he decides to burn it all away at the same time he burns away the source. He might need help in case it affects his mother though. Perhaps Sorin could lend some assistance considering it is related to his order.

Then, the unthinkable happened. Again. The damn bastard, not him, doesn't die and somehow heal all his wounds

'_By Avacyn 's grace, is this the fabled plot armor?'_ Thought Jon.A situation some might call _pot calling the kettle black_, but he didn't know that.

And before his thought finally coalesces, he is hit by a powerful explosion. The force behind it is so immense even his wel- anchored feet don't put up any resistance to it. His concentration on his spell is instantly interrupted as he is thrown backward against his will.

_FUCK_

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"

For each second the brute screams, his voice changes a little by little. It becomes less and less human if Jon had to put it. It is not a bestial cry like he and his mother does when they were transformed. It is not a dragon growl like Uncle Vol when he, well, most times he expresses emotion actually.

Come to think of it, it was the only non-verbal response Sarkhan Vol ever give, that he knows of anyway. Annoyed, darkening growl. Happy, lightly growl. Hungry, stomach growl. Spending time with his mother and aunt Narset …. Actually, he remembers that a lot of noises were generated among the three of them.

'Cede the thought, you idiot. You are fighting another dangerous planeswalker!' Jon reminds himself as he springs upright. He couldn't afford to think anything else when fighting a foe this caliber.

And Jon is correct on that, for he finds that Garruk's axe flies against his chest at a blitzing speed.

_Fuck_

His armament proves useless against such raw power. Whatever mana he channels to protect himself in haste cannot bear the burden. The blade sinks deep into his dense flesh and he is sure many of his bones are instantly broken. The pain is so unsurmountable Jon doesn't even register it when his vision starts fading. Everything stops as time seems to slow down to a crawl.

The only thing that he could count as good luck is that the ax is thrown, had the man swing it, Jon would be cleaved in twain by now.

…

A wise man once said that each of us has two wolves inside. One is Evil. It is anger, jealously, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The other is good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The two wolves fight one another, and the victor is the one that we feed. A good parable as any parable about self-reflection indeed. Solid advice for everyone to live by and make the multiverse a better place.

Unfortunately, the same wise man decided it was a good idea to preach this teaching to a werewolf. His last disciple laughed at him before tearing his throat out and feasted on his flesh.

There is only one wolf inside any werewolf, and it doesn't fuck around. When push comes to shove, it will take over its host body and render their complex thought into primal instinct. Some might resist its influence better than others, but they will eventually succumb.

Arlinn Kord might think that she is forever free from its control when her spark ignited, and she accepted her bestial side as one of her aspects. She believed that her humanity will always be in the dominant, and for a long time that held true. Until this exact moment.

Her foe seems to be unkillable. Her son is wounded, and possibly soon to be dead. Her power alone, even when she draws from the wolf spirit and the plane's mana, is not enough. She needs more power. MORE POWER.

And it is this power that the wolf spirit so happily granted, for a price of course. After all, it is the law of nature. If one what to take, one must give something in return. It chooses her humanity.

For the first time since her spark ignited, the **Beast Within** had awakened. And oh, it is pissed mad.

*HOWL*

The wolf spirit is enhancing her maternal instinct a hundred-fold. It will do anything to keep her pup safe. Even that thing is the example of madness itself. Her foe seems to be unkillable, and she would never run away.

Not when it means leaving her little pup to his fate with the brute.

With the flood gate to the wolf spirit opened wide, Arlinn's power surges threefold. The flexing of her thigh muscle is enough to crack the muddy ground. Her body launches toward her enemy, leaving a deep pawprint on the earth. One. Two. Three. Three steps are all it takes to close the gap. And after that, come claws. CLAWS. The claws that are saturated with mana in order to hone it beyond razor-sharpness. The claws that threaten to rend everything it contacts with asunder. The claws that cut through Garruk's defense like it was nothing.

The werewolf claws do its damage. Blood gushes from Garruk's face as the boney blades tear half of his face off. Time seems to stagger as the two clashes again. The werewolf speed is too much for the huntsmen to handle. Each of her moves becomes a blur as she darts left and right to dodge his attack while ditching out her owns. However, the werewolf doesn't come out of the bout undamaged. Garruk's blood is now corrosive. Yes, it is unexpected. Yes, it wasn't just a minute ago. Yes, it is now. The Veil's curse is unpredictable, and it is fruitless to try to even understand.

Not that Arlinn currently possesses the sound enough sentience to do so either. The wolf spirit doesn't care. In fact, it doesn't give a fuck. The only thing that matters is the result. The result that seems to be unattainable at the moment, because the brute doesn't even flinch at his wound. And the wound starts rapidly healing as soon as her claws left.

Change of plan. If serrations don't work maybe pure blunt forces would. Dropped to the ground, the werewolf crouches as her muscle once again tightened. The strains within her body make a popping sound as magic infuses each and every fiber of her flesh. It will be quick and brutal. It needs to be least she got caught by the curse's defense.

With a single growl, the werewolf sprints on all four. She moves fast like a lightning strike. So fast, in fact, that Garruk's eyes cannot keep up with her position. Her body shifts and turns as her stance changes. She launches herself into midair, cocks her leg backward as she passes over his head, and performs a mighty roundhouse kick right at his head. The sound of bone snapping from the impact is loud and clear. She grinds her teeth to endure the pain as she lands. Her tibia bone seems to be threatened to snap in two from the same impact. Looking over, she sees that Garruk's neck is snapped into an impossible angle.

Then it cocks back to its original position with a deafening *crack*. At least he seems to be disoriented and is spacing out. This is ridiculous.

*sniff*sniff*

Setting her bone straight, she nudges her nose at unconscious Jon. His life is fleeting but not yet gone. There is even less blood pooling around his body than it should have been. It is as if something is trying its hardest to keep him alive. For that, she couldn't thank it enough.

*slurp*

She licks his face to check his temperature. That action almost burns her tongue. His body is blazingly hot. Hotter than a burning log in her mouth that night she spent in Devil's Breach during her youth. It was the very same night that she learned not to drink and transformed. It turned out that her bestial side doesn't react well to alcohol.

Her son is alive. That is as good as she could ask for. Now all she had to do is to drive the foe off and take her son to a safe place.

Well, you know what they say? The third time a charm, right?

*growl*

…

As the battle about to reaches its climax, the Veil's curse gnaws at Garruk's mind and brings forth another dark entity. An entity of which its mentality is yet to be fully developed. Still, it is powerful enough to overtake the body. Its thought is, to say the least, simple and direct. It is at this moment where Garruk Wildspeaker recedes and GARRUK is born.

Garruk was weak. So weak that Garruk got ambushed by preys and cannot fight them off. Garruk would die if GARRUK doesn't come out. GARRUK is strong. Strongest there is. GARRUK doesn't flinch at the wound Garruk received. GARRUK will fight two-on-one and win. Boy tried to fry GARRUK. Boy got ax in his chest.

Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha.

GARRUK IS THE STRONGEST THERE IS!

Wolfwoman doesn't learn lesson. She still wants to fight GARRUK.

Wolfwoman is stupid because GARRUK is a good teacher. When GARRUK gives prey a lesson they all take it to their grave. GARRUK hates stupid prey.

Why can't Wolfwoman be like Boy, Boy learned fast.

Wolfwoman flings mud to GARRUK face. It would not slow GARRUK down. Puny mud is weak, GARRUK is strong. Stupid Wolfwoman thinks that mud can distract GARRUK. Ha.

GARRUK smashes!

GARRUK misses. GARRUK smashes! Wolfwoman tries to hurt GARRUK. GARRUK itches.

GARRUK misses again. GARRUK smashes!

GARRUK misses again! Wolfwoman doesn't stay still. GARRUK smashes faster!

Wolfwoman dodges again! Stupid Wolfwoman. GARRUK is getting bored.

GARRUK punches ground very very hard. Wolfwoman dodges the punch but not the aftershock. HA!

GARRUK walks toward Wolfwoman to give last lesson. This time stupid Wolfwoman will finally learn.

*HOWL*

GARRUK turns and finds that Boy isn't as smart as GARRUK believes Boy to be. Boy turns into a grey eye's white giant Wolfman. Ha! GARRUK SMASH!

Wolfman receives GARRUK's punch to the face. Wolfman is so weak he flinches in pain. GARRUK tries to follow through but Wolfman slaps GARRUK across the chest. GARRUK is though so GARRUK doesn't flinch. Physic isn't so though so it sent GARRUK backward.

Wolfman then opens mouth and unleashes green fire. GARRUK feels hot. GARRUK doesn't like being hot. So GARRUK needs ax back.

Wolfwoman uses this chance to try sneak attack GARRUK again. Damn stupid Wolfwoman. GARRUK will improvise. GARRUK grabs Wolfwoman and fling Wolfwoman to Wolfman.

Wolfwoman collides with Wolfman and stop Wolfman from spilling fire. GARRUK rushes in and take axe back. Wolfman bleeds out a lot. Ha! GARRUK swings his ax at Wolfman's face.

Somehow ax only graze around Wolfman's eye sockets. Wolfman gets a shallow wound instead of a giant axe to the face. GARRUK is amazed.

Wolfman then recovers and slaps GARRUK away again. Damn weak physics, GARRUK is sent flying back. GARRUK bleeds but doesn't hurt. GARRUK doesn't like this situation.

Wolfman and Wolfwoman cannot hurt GARRUK, but GARRUK also cannot hurt Wolfman without getting burned. GARRUK doesn't like being burned. GARRUK doesn't like this situation.

GARRUK hates Wolfman and Wolfwoman. GARRUK hates punny Necromancer. GARRUK hates this plane. GARRUK hates the other planes. GARRUK will planeswalk away to Kaldheim. He hates that frigid plane a little less.

This is but a flesh wound. GARRUK will come back for a rematch. GARRUK will call it a draw.

…

Meanwhile, inside Jon's mindscape is not any less hectic than that of Garruk. The only difference is that the entity within is more than ten thousand years old and is one of the most terrifying entities in the multiverse.

As he spectated from within, Vaevictis Asmadi is mostly amused. It was an unwinnable fight for the shewolf and his host. Their foe has access to a power source like no other. This giant of a man that they are fighting is about to become a demon. It is a curse, some would say, and a powerful one at that. What sort of artifact would cause such a potent curse? Even within Jon's mindscape, he could taste the rich black mana from the curse. Such power will keep the man alive throughout this fight.

He couldn't say the same for the shewolf and his host, though. Perhaps the time for his intervention is coming faster than he thought.

He needs to know where the curse is originated. The shewolf's friend said something about an artifact called the Chain Veil. To think that such artifact is currently in the hand of a mortal.

What a waste!

Bah. This wouldn't do. How could a mere mortal deserve to possess such an artifact? This circumstance has a scheme written all over it. Something that Nicol Bolas would do.

This wouldn't do at all. He must have that artifact. Not only it would boost his power, but if this is one of his cousin's schemes, he wouldn't mind running it.

As Vaevictis Asmadi completes his thought, his stupid host got an ax stuck in his chest. The giant ax blade sunk deep about a halfway through the boy's body. Had he not pouring his power to keep the alive, both of them would be gone by now.

FUCK!

Damn it. He only takes his attention away from the situation for a mere moment. What kind of useless host is this? Does he need to do everything himself?

Fine then. It is about time to kill something. Staying bodyless inside this foolish boy's mindscape is about to get boring.

*WOOF*

What the fuck.

The dark mindscape of Jon suddenly become alight as another entity coalesces in the form of a colossal white wolf with grey eyes. A waterfall of saliva is gushing from its stinking mouth. Who knows where its tongue went?

Probably its own arse.

This is madness. Had any of his siblings or cousins know he had to share a space with a mutt, they would not let it go. How in the glory of the Ur-dragon does the mutt get here? He already asserts his supreme dominance over the host body and wipes away anything that could challenge him.

*BORK*BORK*

"Shut up, you stink cur!" Vaevictis roars. His burning claws come down striking nothing but void. The great wolf shockingly disappears to thin air and reappears again right in front of the elder dragon's face. It even has the gall to ponce him, but he reacts in time to save himself from more shame.

"YOU DARE!" Vaevictis screams as he pins the great wolf to the non-existence floor. His claws dig deep into its throat.

*ROAR* The dragon unleashes earthshattering roar of rage at the wolf's face.

*slurp* The wolf responses back by licking the dragon snout.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"

"AWOOOOOOOOOO!" The wolf's resonating bark shakes Jon's mindscape as the two entities' power combine and surges through him. And the rest is history. A tale for another time perhaps.

…

Jon wakes up with a massive headache. No. This shouldn't be classified as a mere headache. His head feels like it is exploding, rebuilding itself up, then explodes again and again and again. Getting knock around the head by Aunt Narset's **Channeled Force** blast combines from uncle Vol's **Banefire** wasn't hurt as much.

To make things worse, his memory is hazy. He remembers something about tracking Garruk, successfully ambush him, then …. then ….. then ….

Oh …. Right. He spaced out during battle and paid for it dearly.

The pain in his chest surges as soon as he remembered.

"FUCK!" He screams and jumps straight up. "That's hurt." It hurt so bad. The burning rotting scar runs from his upper chest down to his stomach. That scar still not fully heal even though his bleeding had stopped.

Oh yes, it glows in an eerie bright green color. It doesn't take him a single brain cell to know that it is not normal. But then again, what he considered normal was forever lost to him from the day his spark ignited.

Lost in his own thought, Jon doesn't realize where he is. Neither did he realized that he doesn't wear any clothes. Only when a freezing wind blows down his nether region does he notice something is amiss.

He looks down again to see his terrible wound. It is still as bad as the first time he laid his eyes on. Then … his eyes travel further and are greeted with his own sizable member.

"SHIT!" Jon looks around the room he is in and finds that everything is carved out of marbled stone. There is only one place that he knows that has a room like this. Which means he is not on Innistrad anymore.

He is back at their place on Tarkir.

"What did I tell you about swearing, Jon!" his mother emerges from the shadow. She shakes her head as if she is disappointed. Her body is full of bruises that had turn black and purple.

Her. Entire. Body.

"WHY AM I NAKED? WAIT. WHY ARE YOU NAKED? …. You know what? don't tell me. I don't think I want to know."

**Custom Card of the Week**

**Card Name: **Blessing of the Wolf Spirit

**Mana Cost: **2RG

**Type: **Enchantment - Aura

**Card Text: **

When Blessing of the Wolf Spirit enters the battlefield, put two +1/+1 counter on enchanted creature.

Enchanted creature has "Whenever this creature attacks, it gains double strike and trample"

When enchanted creature dies or put into exile from the battlefield, return that creature to the battlefield under your control.

**Flavor Text: **Arlinn Kord willingly surrender to the beast within, but the beast decide it couldn't exist without her.

**Rarity:** Rare


	21. Chapter 21 Parter of Veils

**Chapter 21: **Parter of Veils

**I tried to pull some TTS vibe to this story, but I am not sure how well I did. I had to rewrite the banter bit far too many times, but I'm still not fully satisfy.**

…

**Previously**

"WHY AM I NAKED? WAIT. WHY ARE YOU NAKED? …. You know what? don't tell me. I don't think I want to know."

…

Inside Jon's mindscape, there is an enraging elder dragon.

Vaevictis Asmadi has no physical mouth, but he wants to scream. Thousands of years ago when he was seemingly struck down by his cousin Palladia-Mors, he found himself stranded on a blackwater plane. A plane where its god was so weak, they could not take a physical form. A plane where humanity only short of crawling out from the dirt pit. A plane so far off he could scheme and plot without alerting others. It was just the plane that he needed.

He was so weak after the fight, barely clinging on to life in fact. Such a shame a might elder dragon such as he was brought so low. He had far too many enemies and no ally left. The planeswalkers are too powerful for him to take on. Their control over the raw amount of mana was even surpassed his. To regain his status in the multiverse, he needed more power. He needed their power as his own.

Thus, he began his grand plan. A planeswalker was born out of a pure chance. One in a million would possess a spark and even less so could ignite it. Anyone could become one whether the highest of kings or the lowest of slaves. All he needed was time for one host to appear.

At his dying breath, he cast his final spell on the region that nowadays was called Valyria. His blood solidified creating a magical mineral deposit. His nearly exhausted magic pool transformed instilled primitive clans in the vicinity into what later arrogantly called themselves Dragon Lords. His heart became the birthing pool of the first giant drakes. His soul was shattered into nothingness but his conscious lingered in those pathetic cavemen.

On that day Vaevictis Asmadi had fallen, and Valyrian's dragon god was born.

Generations over generations these Valyrians and raised their empire to a great height. They had brought rival empire of Gis and Rhoynar low with their spell, fire, and steel. Yet none of the people show any potential to ignite their spark.

The Valyrian soon became too mighty. Their infighting was not enough to birth a planeswalker. Easy time breeds weak men and that was unacceptable. A sacrifice needed to be made. Vaevictis had also planned for this: A contingency plan to destroy the civilization about five thousand years after his death.

Something that the historian called Doom of Valyria.

He predicted that some remnants of the minor dragon lords would flee and would find a new home. The infighting to claim the title of the successor of the empire would create bloodshed of an epic proportion. He was right.

Alas, no spark was ignited.

History repeated itself over and over. Never once was his plan came close to succession. Not until a few years ago.

At last, after thousands of years, a suitable host was born.

A product of incestuous fool and naïve lass. An orphan of war his parents had started. A boy with no motherly figure in his life and an absolute fool of a father figure. The circumstance was not ideal, but the multiverse works in a mysterious way. The boy incurred the wrath of puny gods of this plane and was robbed of life. Or at least that what was meant to be.

His sparked ignited was his thread of fate was forever severed. The boy planeswalked to Innistrad and Vaevictis Asmadi lived again.

Everything played out smoothly. He even eluded the detection of Ugin as he gnawed away his host control over his body. Has not for the damn wolf spirit intervention, he would have total control by now.

He accounted for other planeswalkers interfering. He accounted for other elder dragons interfering. He accounted for gods, even pitifully weak as they were.

But a mere spirit set him back and even pissed on his face. That was unacceptable.

No matter, he still had plenty of chances. All he had to do was to deal with that wolf spirt. Then he needed to tie up loose ends afterward.

There were two incestuous silver-haired barbarians that he needs to eliminate in the blackwater plane. His plan of revival was already complete. There is no need to keep the contingencies any longer. He doesn't want, as unlikely as it could be, another Vaevictis Asmadi to awaken.

That, and the fact that they arrogantly called themselves a dragon lords while they are in fact a toothless worm. The nerve of these savages.

…

Tarkir's wind is cold. Very cold. Especially when you decide, or not, to wear nothing.

And the amount of blood pumping that is required to keep the body warm also has a very synergistic effect when exposing to a certain stimulant.

Even when the said stimulant is a fit femme fatale of an adoptive mother.

It doesn't take Jon long at all to realize that some part of him has awoken more than others.

"Oh. My." Said his mother. With her eyebrow raised, she smiles. "I'm quite flattered."

Jon's hands have never moved so fast. His cheek turns red as excessive blood rush toward it from below. His draconic heritage makes his skin turns burning hot it creates steam out of the cold air.

That is not the only part of him that is burning hot.

"Don't you dare say another word! Mother." He haphazardly said. "Don't. You. Dare."

Feeling as threatened as being mugged by a homunculus holding a candy stick, his mother grin expands even wider. "Or what? Hmm."

An awkward silence ensues. Arlinn places her hands on her hips and snorts. "Don't threaten someone when you don't have anything to back it up, Jon. It is pathetic. And if we are not injured, I will beat that into your thick skull right now."

For all his life, Jon considers himself quite a smart kid. Even in Winterfell, he was told he was quite a fast learner. For some time, he suspected that it just kind words from Maester Luwin to make him feel good about himself. Then he met his mother and found that Maester Luwin was right. He was a fast learner.

If he were not, his mother would beat him to death a long time ago. Law of the wild and all that.

As Jon turns away and rubs his temple….

_Temple as in the area of the head slightly beside the eyes, you dirty mind people. There is no euphemism here._

_Anyway_. As Jon turns away and rubs his temple, he hears a series of footsteps. He doesn't need to guess whose steps they were. There are only five people, both of them included, who have access to this place. One of which is an elder dragon who can fly. That leaves this uncle Vol and aunt Narset, two people he doesn't want to see him naked.

And by Avacyn if they don't wear any clothes either, he gonna bash his head on the stone bed.

Fortunately, the two Tarkirian have enough self-respect to put their clothes on.

"Kord. I heard you're back." Said Sarkhan Vol as he walks into the room. Then he laid his eyes on her and staggered. "By the might of the Ur-dragon, wear something will you?"

"Come on, Vol. What do you need to fluster about? We did much more than you that the last time."

This is not happening.

"Damn you woman, your son is right here."

At least his uncle agrees. Who knows that the man who once titled 'The mad' is the voice of reason in this conversation?

Not him, and not his mother.

"If you want to make him a proper man at least let him start with something basic. Find him a lass from one of the clans, and guide him through it. Well, maybe not those freaks from Silumgar's swamp. Anyway, my point is the usual things that we do will break him."

Wait. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. What the fuck.

"Bah." His mother snorts. "Jon doesn't make of glass, Vol. He can handle it. Don't you think so? Narset?"

The question was met with silence.

"Er ….. Narset?"

Jon turns around and finds that aunt Narset buries her face on uncle Vol back to hide her embarrassment. She did slightly peek her head just enough to catch a sight of him off guard though.

Aunt Narset appears even more frustrated when three of them turn and stare at her, expecting her to say something. And a deafening silence later, she did.

"Ara Ara. Our little Snow has grown up."

Fucking hell!

…

It was cleared that Ugin was not happy. Even a blind man could see that.

It takes quite a while for the sensational craziness to die down, but they finally did.

It started when Ugin came in to shut down the ruckus only to find that half of them were naked, and the other half were about to.

The dragon reprimand was long and harsh. _That last sentence was not an innuendo either. _At least when it ends, they can talk like proper civilized people; with their clothes on.

Avacyn be praised. Finally, some common decency in this dysfunctional family.

Never to say, Ugin doesn't find their situation amusing. Jon picked up some of his complaints in draconic tongues. Something about shameless mortal and dioecy fools.

Jon does not know what "Dioecy" means, but he has a hunch that it will make him seem smart if he could use it in a sentence. He will make sure to find its meaning later.

Fortunately, Ugin's ire does not focus on him.

The adults, on the other hand, are scared shitless.

The adults may hide it well, but he knows fear when he sees one. Ugin can be fucking terrifying when he wishes to.

To make it clear, Jon would prefer fighting Atarka with only his fists than facing the current Ugin. At least he would see his death coming against his former clan tyrant.

Here they are. Sitting on a 'couch' like a 'proper family'. Jon sits on one end, aunt Narset sits on the other. Between them sit his mother and uncle Vol, while Ugin looming over them from the opposite end of the hall.

That is as close as he could get while none of them need to strain their neck looking up or down. The difference in scale did not occur to them when they carved out the extended sanctum.

The interior design that suited both humans and dragons was neither a common practice among planeswalkers nor architects.

"It seems I had tolerated decadent behavior of you three for far too long. Seriously, a wound child? Need I remind you what the purpose of allowing you children to stay in my sanctum?"

Ugin was like a mountain, heavy, and immovable. Every word contains his will and authority.

"What! We didn't …"

"Shut up Arlinn. From now on there will be no intercourse in my sacred place, or there will be dire consequences. Our kind is the true inheritor of the multiverse. You four should start to act like one."

The four younger planeswalkers know it would be pointless to challenge him. Not that Jon cares to dispute it either, anything that reins in his mother's activities is a blessing to his mind.

"That aside. You two came here last night seriously wounded." Ugin added. "And smelled like a wet dog."

"They still do." Added uncle Vol, earning himself a scratch. Nothing that his magic wouldn't fix but it looks nasty. "What? You stink like you had been wrestling an Ainok."

'_More like wrestling as an ainok_'. Jon thought. '_Sort of_. _What is the difference between werewolf and ainok anyway? Apart from one is part wolf and one is part dog._'

Well, the difference is in details. Not that Jon understands, of course. It was not in his curriculum. Identifying the intricate difference between two species would help him fuck all to be a better planeswalker. Why learn about that when you can practice slinging spells? Why learn about that when you can spar in close-quarter combat? Why learn about that when all you need is to know enough to blend in with the local populace?

"Vol." Ugin's voice is stoic with a little hint of pissed off. "Shut up. And let her talks."

Of course, uncle Vol obeys without any further words.

Jon believes he sees the vein popping out of the spirit dragon's scales. How could the law of reality be broken to this degree? Fuck of he knows. But then again, nothing makes sense when their kind is involved.

From his point of view, the two interaction was akin to a disappointing parent scolding a child, which is ironic considering that his five 'children' are tyrannical dragon overlords.

…

It had been a long time since Arlinn had been …. Let's say, rebuked …. By some sort of authority. Sure, many of her few friends called her a bitch and/or slut here and there, but that was a term of endearment. Tamiyo was a great example. As she once told Jon, most planeswalkers stay clear of each other personal life. Apart from her little pup, her relationship with Narset and Vol is more of a special case. She doesn't even have friends that aren't planeswalkers anymore, excluding those men she had a one-night stand with, of course. They are more of an occasional stress reliever.

What is she thinking about again? Oh, yes, getting rebuke by an authority. She didn't have that since she was a child.

There was once a young and beautiful girl in Innistrad named Arlinn Kord. She lived in a village called Orleans not too far from Ulwenvald forest. Life was harsh but fair. Everyone was as happy as they could be. She prayed to Avacyn every night before sleep and every morning after wake. She prayed to Avacyn before and after every meal. Life was simple back then.

My mother was a seamstress.

She sewed me silk pantaloons.

My father was a gambling man.

Down in ye old Orleans.

It was a faint memory. Being a werewolf changed her greatly. She forgot things more than she could even care to remember. Painful memories that she had locked away were there for a reason. So much blood, so much scream. The sad looks in their eyes. The dying words that chilled her bones.

But one thing that she could remember was when she was outside for too long and came home late. She didn't remember what caused her to be late, but her mother seemed to convince that it was the boys in the village. She didn't know what caused her mother to do so for boys are stupid. She tuned out most of her mother's rambling which led to receiving no dinner that night.

But that's not the point. The point was that she was sitting like she is doing now, and her mother is looking down on her like Ugin is doing now. Same posture. Same tone. The only difference is that while her mother could beat her with a stick, Ugin could completely wipe her from existence with ghostfire.

When Ugin told you to sit, your ass better hit the chair before he finishes his sentence.

And that is why the elder dragon had absolute authority in this dysfunctional family of five. As much as the old wyrm insisted that 'they aren't anything of sort' and 'they work for him', she begs to differ.

Which lead her to the current predicament. How in the hell could she explain their fight with Garruk? She doubts Ugin would understand the importance of protecting one hunting ground. Or how could She let Jon got hurt in an 'unnecessary fight'? Well, she didn't think that he would get hurt, but then again who would expect Garruk to cheat death?

'_Well. Here goes nothing_.'

"We got into a fight with Garruk Wildspeaker. He was stronger than we thought so we transformed" She tries her best to sound as nonchalantly as she can. "Our clothes got destroy during the transformation."

'_That should do it. Right?_' She hopes it is so.

Of course, it is. The three know as much about parenting as she was, which is almost nothing, not even a common sense. They might complain, sure, but as long as her pup didn't die, they wouldn't interfere much.

"Why did your transformation leave you naked?" Asked Vol.

"Why did yours don't?" She replies. Truthfully, that is one of the questions they cannot answer no matter how hard they think about it.

"Magic." Vol smiles. "Duh."

"Fuck you Vol." She retorts only to have Vol laughing it off.

"Still, you made a poor judgment dragging the brat along." Vol scowls. "He barely survives a sparring match against one of us holding back. What makes you think he is ready to face another planeswalker, let alone one as dangerous as Garruk?"

What Vol said makes sense. Of course, she doesn't like it when he points it out like that, but she couldn't find anything to disagree with. Jon is far from ready to face another planeswalker.

She always knew that the plan was reckless, but then again, they are the ambusher. It was supposed to be easy to retreat when they were unsuccessful. Who would have thought that the outcome would be like last night?

"We are on the offensive, and we did a perfect ambush. Everything went perfectly. We hit him with everything we got. Jon lunged his spear through his chest and burned him with his dragon roar. I transformed and clawed his face off. The bastard didn't go down so we fought." Said Arlinn. She notices that her son tenses up at the B-word, but she knows that he does not take it to heart. She doesn't raise a wimp who would let a mere word to get him.

Silence ensues. That is to be expected. Even when Ugin doesn't see the huntsman a threat, Vol and Narset would. Vol is an experienced planeswalker. He had visited multiple planes and must have heard of Garruk's killing spree. While Narset's spark only ignited a few years ago, she probably knows a lot of things by spending her time with Vol.

Consider they are basically joined at the hip, both literally and metaphorically, she would expect nothing less. Narset is a curious and inquisitive girl. Even when banished from the Jeskai clan, she still thirsts for knowledge like a fish thirst for water.

Arlinn had to admit that analogy isn't well put, but she isn't a wordsmith. Anyway, fuck simile.

"For fucks sake, Arlinn…" Vol curses. "Is he dead? or we need to prepare for his revenge?"

"No. He got away." She could see Vol's frown grows even deeper at her answer. "I mean, he should be had his curse not saving him. The man is transforming into a demon."

"Is that possible? Can a demon become planeswalker?" asked Narset. "I know they can travel through the blind eternity, but can they have a spark?"

"Well. I heard some demon on Zendikar claimed that it used to be a planeswalker." Added Vol.

Their sidetrack would continue had Ugin not interrupted them.

"That was reckless of you. Making an unnecessary enemy is a foolish move. Letting him alive was even worse. A lone planeswalker can disrupt any well-laid plan."

The old dragon is as detached to the situation as ever. Ugin seems to only care about the big picture, only his grand plan. Arlinn couldn't blame him though. To live that long and to once possess that much power and the lost it would take a toll on one's mind, let alone got killed by his own twin and came back to life.

Had she possessed that much power, most problems she currently has would be trivial as well.

While it is true that she is annoyed by his demeanor, she is not foolish enough to voice it.

The power dynamic is a pain in the ass, and it is not a good kind that she enjoyed.

"Find a way to fix this mess you made. I would be uttermost displease if your problem becomes my problem." Said the elder dragon before he leaves.

It seems she would be spared from his scolding after all.

"Oh. Before I forget." The elder dragon turns back. "Snow." He calls her pup. "You better be ready to fight another planeswalker the next time this happened. As for you three …."

Or Not.

"Meet me at the training yard at dawn tomorrow. I believe it is time I impart something valuable to the younger generations."

Shit.

…

**Custom Card of the Chapter**

**Card Name:** House of Rising Sun

**Type:** Land

**Card text: **

House of Rising Sun enters the battlefield tapped

At the beginning of your untap step, you may pay 2 life. If you don't, House of Rising Sun remains tapped.

T, add 2 mana of any color to your mana pool

**Rarity:** Uncommon.


	22. Chapter 22 Vengeful Bloodlord

**Chapter 22: Vengeful Bloodlord**

**I started learning Mandarin during COVID19 lockdown as a 3****rd**** language. Truth be told, it didn't mess up my writing of this story as much as I thought.**

**Reading translated Xianxia novel, on the other hand, did. **

**That and trying hard not to cross the smut line. I want this story to be a bit naughty but it's quite hard to hold back the inappropriate ideas.**

**Another important note, I decided to split this project into multiple, let's say, Saga. I feel like many people would want to see Jon and his "family" back on Planetos. While I plan to do it after Innistrad Arc, but I feel the tone would be much more different as we delve into a mess that will happen on Planetos. **

**So, I will end this story when I finish this current arc and write a sequel with a more serious tone. I plan to do some character study and plan how to write a serious & less bonkers story which will take quite a long time.**

**In short, this story will end in about 5 chapters or so. After that, I will take a break before writing a sequel. I will try to not procrastinate much, but no promises.**

**Hope that will give me the best chance to create a decent story.**

**Sorry for the delay.**

…

**Q/A**

**Amino Fanfiction: **I love this book I'm probably going to save it wait for you to get farther in the store and then read it all again.

Cheers.

**Ksveela:** I love this. I want the Seven wiped out of Westeros. Burn the sept, the septas, the septons. They are much a political group than a religious one.

I plan to have Jon came back and have a double take on WTF had happened in his name. I imagine wake up and do the same on Ixalan.

…

Pain.

**PAINNNNNNNNNN**.

Everything hurts.

Existence is pain.

Because Ugin did not show any mercy on them when, as he put it, tutoring post-mending planeswalkers a proper decorum.

"AAAAAAWWWWWWWWW" Groaned Arlinn Kord as she twists and turns on her bed. "I think my entire ribcage broke."

The comment on the stage of her wellbeing is received in silence. There is no wind in the sanctum. No bugs or birds. Only her and her 'family'.

…. Planeswalker guide to common vocabulary, 276th edition ….

**Family**. [fam-uh-lee]

Noun, plural: fam-i-lies

A basic social unit consisting of parents and children, considered as a group, whether dwelling together or not. Blood relation is not a necessary requirement even though is common.

28 Zuun AR 4559/ Ugin's addendum: Unless two are spouse, no sexual intercourse should not occur between the member of the family. The violation of this addendum within the vicinity of Ugin's sanctum will be heavily punished according to The Reckless Sparks accord.

[Classified] / [Classified]'s addendum: Due to an appeal by [Planeswalker] and [Planeswalker], an artificial being such as Innistrad's [Retracted] can be considered part of one family if the said creation is created in the 'Parents' image.

…

"No, Arlinn. You feel like your ribcage broke. It's all in your mind." Said Narset who laying on the nearby bed. "Just steel your mind and focus through the pain. If you don't succumb to it, then it cannot hurt you."

Arlinn's eyebrows twitch as she tries to comprehend the collection of words that came out from the Ojutai monk's mouth. Narset, as lovely as she is, tends to speak in a riddle. It is one of few things about the younger planeswalker that grind Arlinn's gear.

The usual solution for the she-wolf when that happens is to have both of them 'grind each other gear', but Ugin 'Told' them they cannot do that here anymore. Doing it somewhere out-plane would take too much out of her so that is also not a viable option either.

On an incredibly special occasion perhaps. She heard that Vol and Narset went to Zendikar recently.

Arlinn smiles as she put the thought into an 'to-do list'

"Then why did I hear a cracking sound when I turn too fast, huh? The pain is physical." She groans. "Vol, can you apply ice on my ribs?"

She gives him a sly smile.

"But it will not end with just and ice won't it? Ugin made it clear. The less physical contact we had the better. I, for one, don't want to face his fire again."

Sometimes she feels that Vol is far too afraid of Ugin more than her liking, but he does have a point. In Tarkir, Ugin's word is the law. If they want to stay here, they had to follow it to the letter.

She could have gone back to Innistrad, but Jon could not. His training is yet to be completed, and there is no reason to piss off Sorin more than they already had.

"We could always planeswalk somewhere else, Vol." She replied. "What Ugin doesn't know, can't hurt us."

"Ha. Ha. Not a chance." Vol replied. "I'm not going to risk getting ghostfired. Not even for that."

"Ghostfired. Is that even a word?" Asked Narset. "And what is 'that' you're referring to exactly?"

"Oh. It's …." Arlinn leans in and whispers at Narset's ear. A few words in and the Ojutai monk is already reddened like a burning sun. And that whisper lasts far too long for any man comfort.

But that is the story for another day, for the perverted minds.

…

Meanwhile, Jon Snow is having another type of problem.

And that's because Ugin does not fuck around when he gives a lesson.

"Concentrate, Young Snow. You have not been improving at all since our previous lesson." Said the Elder Dragon. "Your flame is unfocused. Your strength is poorly utilized. This mistake needs to be rectified as soon as possible, or it will cost you your life."

Jon turns silent. His mount is wide open. His eyes stare blankly at the elder dragon.

"Utilized. Rectified. Those are … err … Words." He said.

Ugin's eyes start to twitch. But considering how the boy was raised, he should not be surprised. "You don't understand what I just said do you?"

Jon nods.

"You need to work on your vocabulary, young Snow." Said the dragon as he materialized a thick tome out of thin air.

And purposely drop it on the boy's head as he asked "Vo-cab-u-lar-y?"

*WACK*

"This." Ugin points at the tome. "Is called a dictionary. Also known as Planeswalker guide to common vocabulary. This one might be outdated but you can use it the same. It would help you deal with a more …. Let's say sophisticated entities."

"I don't see how knowing more words would help us in a fight?" innocently asked Jon.

"It will help you not further aggravate them from reckless actions you and your mother always do." The dragon squints his eyes. "This lack of your knowledge included."

Jon soon finds himself caught a cold sweat. Moreover, he could actually see his hair stands straight up.

"I don't know what aggravate means, but the point is well taken, Lord Ugin."

"Good!" The dragon nods. "Now. Shall we correct your fire breathing …."

…. Planeswalker guide to common vocabulary, 276th edition ….

**Aggravate **[ag-ruh-veyt]

Verb (use with object), ag-gra-vat-ed, ag-gra-vat-ing

To make thing worse or more severe, intensify, as anything evil, disorderly, or troublesome.

Also, what planeswalkers usually do to any ordinary problems.

…

Three hours later, inside the resting chamber lies a boy. Bruised and beaten, Jon is glad he is resting on a cold hard bed of the sanctum once again.

The difference was that this time, in addition to soreness everywhere, there are third-degree burns. His outer layer of flesh and skin did not just char, it was totally evaporated. Of course, the damage was recoverable due to Vaevictis's heritage. The foolish boy should just treat it as a form of body tempering.

And no, Vaevictis Asmadi doesn't care for the boy's opinion. The boy should just man up and take it.

Like Poet Clarkson used to say: What doesn't kill you make you stronger.

Then again, Jon was not Vaevictis, no matter what the dragon's lie is. It hurts. LIKE A BITCH.

Then his mother walked in.

"JON!" she screams as she dashes toward the wounded boy. "What happened to you! Why are you in this state! How could you still alive! Are you in pain?"

As soon as her hands touch the burnt flesh, Jon recoils.

But the pain didn't come. If he could recall what Ugin told him about nerves, he would know that ghostfire had already burnt all the receptors away. Alas, he had no idea what half of those words mean. It would be a pain to explain to his mother what happened.

Well, pain is probably his middle name by now. Whatever those 'middle name' was, he wasn't sure. He had never heard of one in Westeros.

"Err. A lot of things. Ghost fire. I don't know either, but Ugin said something about my nerves. No, I don't feel anything." Jon replied.

"Nerves! You are telling me that Ugin burnt you so bad it fired all your receptors in the dermis layer. Perhaps short circuit your entire nervous system." Arlinn looks in horror. Her little pup is burnt so bad she can barely recognize him.

It is true that the wound would probably fully heal by the end of the week, but Arlinn prefers to deal with the present, not the future. That is just how she rolls.

"What the fuck wrong with that's old wyrm? This is not how one teaches a child." She mumbled.

'Your punches and kicks were not that much better, mother. If you could breathe fire, you would probably try to burn me as well.' Thought Jon. He knows better not to say it out. He's not an idoit.

He tried to keep up a straight face. It is hard when part of it is had been turned to ash.

Arlinn looks worried for about …. Few seconds. Then her expression changes as she seems to remember something important.

"Well, on the bright side, at least you will not feel so much pain when your lymphatic system treats your wounds. Unless those wounds are infected, then it would be a bitch to deal with. We need some wound dressing and let your draconic heritage deal with it. You might still get a phantom pain though." She spoke as she channeled some church's healing magic on his wound. It's not much but it's the thought that count.

Jon, on the other hand, is very disturbed.

What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On.

Jon is so shocked he feels like his eyes are coming out of his socket. No. That was the effect of getting a tail slammed on the head.

He feels like his jaws are dislocating. No. That was the effect of overloading mana during his dragon roared.

He feels. Well, fuck it. A lot of questions start popping up in Jon's head, not many of them make any sense. Questions such as, 'What the fuck are you talking about?' And 'How the fuck did you get so knowledgeable about the human body.'

But he knows that his ass will be mercilessly beaten for swearing, if she was his mother, that is. So, he asks something a little bit cleverer instead.

"Who are you, and what had you done with my mother?" Jon asked.

The woman answers by slapping the back of his head. "What sort of question is that?"

Well. It is his mother that he knows and loves alright.

" ? Did they teach that in the church?" Jon answer the question with another question. As for the topic, he was not sure. A lot of words his mother spoke is somewhat intelligent. It is far beyond his reach anyway so he couldn't care less.

His mother laughs. Very loudly.

Some minute has passed yet she is still laughing. It's a surprise that she isn't in tears right now.

"HA! You think I learned all of that from the church! Do you really think they would include it along with prayers and how to torture heretics?" She continues.

"Then how …" Jon tries to ask but his mother cut him off.

"When you sleep around so much, you are bound to pick up something eventually." She nonchalantly said. "Sometimes you learn something new if you played your cards right that is."

WHAT!

"Don't worry, Jon. You will do the same when you are older, eventually." She adds. "See. When puberty hits you, you will feel the urge. You will do anything to keep your wolfspirit satisfied. I tried to pray it away, it didn't end well. Normally, it will end up in slaughter and blood orgy. Sometimes its normal orgy. Sometimes it's both."

Jon knows right then that the topic is about to go downhill, right into the gutter even. Worse still, he doesn't have enough strength to get out of this conversation.

"Come to think of it, we were on the way to meet him before we went hunting for Garruk." Arlinn bites her lips. "I thought of bringing you to him, but Geralf would probably end up stitching you an extra arm."

WHAT!

"But then again, Geralf is a germophobic perfectionist. You would probably get healed first before getting extra bits. Oh. Don't eat or drink anything he offers you when we visit him later. By the way, when we're there make sure you stay with me at all times. I'm quite sure Geralf swings both ways."

WHAT!

"You went silent for a bit. Hmm. That usually means you are thinking something. Something that you are not sure you should say." She looks right into his eyes. "Something that going to get your ass beat."

She is right. That was quite a truth bomb to drop. When his mother bound the wolfspirit to him, she didn't explain all the downsides. Well, maybe she did but he was too young to understand then. Reading between the lines was not a skill he had mastered, not even now.

Fuck. His future is bleak. It goes against everything he had been taught in Winterfell, but then again Winterfell is no longer his home. But what about his morals?

'A man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hears his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die.' That's what Lord Stark used to say.

Could he really be a cold blood killer who would not shed a single tear to innocents that he killed? Or worse, a man whore. Actually, no. A whore gets paid.

Fuck.

"So, you are telling me ... That I will grow up being a murderous necromancer-fucking slut like you."

Oh, shit. He didn't intend to say it out loud.

Hearing that, Arlinn becomes silent. She set her arms straight and stretches her hands. The corner of her mouth lifts as her eyes gleam with power. Her aura surges with a ferocity he had never seen before except a fight to the death.

It was at this moment Jon knew he fucked up.

He tries to bolt but finds himself cannot move that fast. His mother's hand blurs as she snatches his unburnt ankle. The only thing that Jon can do to prevent his face slamming on the floor is to put his burnt limbs in between the two.

And that was much more painful than he thinks it should.

"Where do you think you are going? Hmm." Arlinn yanks his leg upward, making him stays upside down. "And how many times I have to tell you that those words are not appreciated here in this household."

"We live in either a barrow, or a den, or a cave!" Jon yells. He knows it's not much to lighten up the mood, but every little bit helps.

"Humor won't save you! Your discipline shall be rough and merciless." Countered his mother.

"I'm sorry!" Jon shakes his head.

"Too late!" Arlinn nods hers. Her palm fiercely comes down. Jon's defense would handle it from causing real damage, but it will still leave a mark.

*SLAP*

Jon yells but his cry fell on deaf ears, while his mother's grin gets wider and wider.

*SLAP*

The commotion attracts the other two human residents of the sanctum. When they hear the words that are being said, they decide to pop their heads through the door.

*SLAP*

When they see what is going on, they decide to pop back and try their best to forget what they had seen.

They might be batshit crazy, as Ugin had bestowed that title to them, but they are not that rude. Discipline one's child is a very private matter. The outsider should not be present, even those outsiders frequently share the parent's bed.

…

Many spankings later… _That seems wrong, let's try again_…. Many ass beatings later, Jon's burnt wound is not the reddest part of his body. A red palm-sized print on his left butt cheek is.

Due to some magic related reasons, the print would not fade anytime soon.

_Why? Well, fuck him that's why._

Just as Arlinn Kord intended. Her pup would think twice before cursing again after this. At least he would when he is within her hearing range.

Only after the ruckus died down does Narset and Vol came in. They look at Arlinn and smile. Then they look at Jon and smile even wider.

"Is it done?" Asked Vol. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Poor child." Added Narset.

Hearing that makes Jon squirms. The pain was not that much but he could not feel his bottom anymore. Jon was not an attention-seeking child, but even he couldn't resist presenting himself to earn some extra pity points.

"He's swearing too much. He even called me a slut." Arlinn answered. "Broke my heart."

Jon wants to scream 'You do not!' but he doesn't want more spanking.

The two Tarkiarians look at each other. Their eyebrows raise in disbelief. Then they turn back to Arlinn and wait. And wait. And wait.

But there is nothing more to add. It makes the two look at her as if she grew an extra arm.

"That's it?" Asked Narset.

"The brat is not wrong." Vol jolly adds.

"Well. Actually …" Arlinn pauses, which raises the two Tarkiarians suspicion even more. "I just wanted to hit him a couple of times, you know, to get the point across. Then I found that he got turned on by it. So, I decided to beat the devil out of him."

Two pairs of eyes widened after hearing the explanation. Their owners' attitude shifts 180 degrees as they see Jon in a new light.

"Fair enough." The two Tarkiarians nod. "Quite kinky, if I had to say so myself."

"You promise not telling anyone!" Jon bellows. "And how is that fair?"

Alas, the adults totally ignore him.

"While I could see the fun for you to spank the brat, but won't this cause him problems in the future?" Said Vol as he pulls Narset by her waist. The former monk does not even resist the pull and giggle. She seems to share the same wavelength.

Strange. Since when did those two get so in sync.

"Vol is right, you know. How will our little Jon do when girls see your palm print on his bottom in the future? He would be embarrassed and probably fail to court them." Added Narset.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA …." Jon tries to drown the room with noise, but his mother puts her fist in his mouth. She does it so nonchalantly and doesn't even care whether he would bite. "MFFFFF…."

Jon just knows there will be much more ass beating in the near future if he did.

"Ha! What would you two know? I could name two girls who would enjoy spanking my little pup!" Arlinn proudly claims. "And do you know what the best thing is? They are not on the same plane!"

Arlinn also laughs far louder than she should.

Jon struggles harder but to no avail. His mother's hold is too tight.

"Oh my. That was unexpected." Said giggling Narset. "Naughty little boy."

"Indeed. So that is his type, heh?" Said Vol. "What a player."

FUCK.

…

It took Jon about one week of recuperation for his wound to be healed. Well, heal might be the wrong word to use. Perhaps 'progressing from totally fucked into still fucked but more pleasing to the eyes' is more accurate.

Anyway, it took him a week before his 'family' see fit for him to be trained again, albeit this time with no sort of fire involved. What used to be a charred flesh and perpetually incinerated is now …. Black. Just black.

At least it was not burning anymore.

That should make him happy but it's not.

He doesn't even feel pain. He had never felt better in his life. That's because Vaevictis Asmadi is a sadistic bastard, and his awakened blood runs deep in Jon's vein.

_Lately, he had been losing sleep, thinking about how he could be. _

Living as a bastard son of Ned Stark in Winterfell sounds more and more terrible as the time pass.

_He saw life as a swinging vine. Swing his heart across the line. In his face was a flashing sign. He feels that if he seeks it out then he shall find. He's old but not that old. He's young, but not that bold. And he doesn't think that the world is sold. He's just doing what he was told._

_Why he feels something so right doing the wrong thing? Why he feels something so wrong doing the right thing?_

_He could lie?_

To quote the codex of Counting Stars '_Everything that kills me makes me feel alive'_

It is a bit vague but that feeling keeps drawing his attention away. There is something that awakened after his experience with ghostfire. Thoughts keep popping up in his head, but he wasn't sure that it was his. The sound of it was unlike that of Vaevictis when the damn dragon decides it's worth to converse with him. No. The sound was his.

It was like he is turning mad, but he knows he isn't.

On the 'That's messed up' scale from what he had experienced so far, it is a solid 6 out of 10.

That was what irritates him this morning.

He finds it extremely hard to focus on his light exercise when his mind is being pulled in three different directions. No. Four.

The adults are at it again. Their absurd conversation that would aggravate Ugin is on. His mother takes the helm, actually.

He knows he should treat it as wind and air, but he couldn't bring himself to. The topic is too interesting not to listen.

…

Arlinn is happy.

Her son is doing well. Again. Common sense tells her that she should not let Jon get hurts as often as he did, but every time her pup was gravely wounded, he came back stronger.

So, fuck common sense. They are planeswalkers. Common sense does not apply to them.

Seeing him now, Arlinn feels proud. His partially blacken skin looks weird but it is not so bad. Besides, he already got girls who probably don't care about it, perhaps even get turned on by it.

Sort of.

Just a week after getting cooked alive and her pup is already up and kicking. His draconic heritage is unbelievable. She is sure about it. That level of a healing factor does not come from wolfspirit. Well. Dragons breathes fire so that should be a thing, so they should not be bothered about getting burn.

So here she is. Sitting on a side bench watching Jon twirling his spear while doing acrobatic.

_That's not a euphemism. He really did practice his spearmanship._

Since Narset suggests everyone else be on standby in case Jon has some accident, so all three of them just sit there and watch.

And watch.

And watch.

Her son is doing fine so they got nothing to do. It's boring.

"So. What made the old wrym so tense anyway? Well. I know he is an elder dragon with an 'I know about everything more than you attitude', but this time he seems more …. Him than usual" With her legs kicking, she mimicked the elder dragon tone. "I swear that dragon just needs to get laid!"

"While I agree that sex is a great stress-relieving activity, must everything need to be related to it, Arlinn?" Asked Narset who sipping a cocktail made from tomato and well whatever Atarka put in their drinks. She picked that up from her last trip to Ravnica.

Truth be told a Rakdos's Bloody Mary is much darker in color and stronger in taste. She still has not figured out their secret.

For her sake, she better never will.

"Besides" Vol added. "Ugin created dragons on Tarkir via the vortex. I don't think his physiology is the same as us."

"So. You're telling me Ugin is a virgin?" Asked Arlinn.

Silence follows.

Awkward silence.

It is so quiet that they can hear Jon's movement. Until a lovely monk breaks it.

"Technically? Yes." Answered Narset. "Can we not discuss this. Please. I don't want to face ghost fire again."

The silence continues some more.

Time passes. Jon continues to train. The adults watch.

"Vol can you …" Arlinn smirks. The other two adults know it means only one thing. Trouble.

"No." Vol interrupts. "Whatever scheme you cooked up; the answer is no. I had enough of Ugin's ire for a year."

"Come on. You have yet to hear my idea." She punches the dragon man. "This one is brilliant."

"You said the same the last time too." Her hand is smacked by the monk. "And now Ugin's eyes are on us more than ever. I don't mean the last time was bad but … maybe we should lay those off for a while."

Then Arlinn stands up with her hands on her hips. She then points at Vol. "And that's why we need to distract that old wrym. Vol, you once traveled the multiverse in search of dragons, right? So, you must know some dragoness to introduce to Ugin. And let nature do its course."

Vol seems amused and afraid at the same time. "So, you want me to be a wingman? Hmmm. I think Lathliss had no partner for a few decades now. … wait. No!" he shakes his head. "No. No. No. I don't want to get burned again."

"Besides," Narset added. "Ugin had Eldrazi to worry about."

"Eldrazi?" Arlinn looks at the monk with confused eyes. "What's Eldrazi?"

…. Planeswalker guide to common vocabulary, 276th edition ….

**Eldrazi **[El-dra-zi]

*Error* [Classified]

*Error* [Level 5 restricted knowledge]

*Error* [Authority not recognized]

*Error* [Accesses Denied]

Contract [Omitted] on [Retracted] for more information.

…

As their conversation is going on, they detect the rupture of space. Air stops flowing. Light stops reflecting. Cold and darkness ensue.

And out of the darkness come to its prince. The ancient vampire. Lord of Innistrad. The Bloodlord. And many, many more titles.

His voice silences everything else. "Eldrazi are being of blind eternities exist only to destroy. They are a threat to everything in the multiverse. We once trapped them on Zendikar but now the seal is cracking. This would be enough problem had you not fucked up on your assignment on Innistrad."

"Sorin."

"Don't 'Sorin' me, Kord. You had one job. ONE SIMPLE JOB! Instead, you picked up a fight with another planeswalker and almost get my servant killed. What say you?"

…

**Custom Card of the Chapter**

Name: The Reckless Sparks

Mana Cost: GWUR

Types: Legendary Planeswalker – Arlinn Narset Sarkhan

Card Text:

+2 The Reckless Sparks deals 3 damage to any target. Scry 1. Draw a card.

-3 Target creature you control deals damage equal to its power to target creature you don't control. Excess damage is dealt to that creature's controller instead.

-7 You get an emblem with "At the beginning of your end step, create a 2/2 green wolf creature token with trample, a 2/2 white and blue monk creature token with hexproof, and a 4/4 red dragon creature token with flying."

Loyalty: 4

Rarity: Mythic Rare


	23. Chapter 23 Collector of Tales

**Hi guys. I hope you all are doing well. I've been busy painting Warhammer models lately so sorry for a delay. Cheers.**

**Chapter 23: Collector of Tales**

…

**Previously**

"Don't 'Sorin' me, Kord. You had one job. ONE SIMPLE JOB! Instead, you picked up a fight with another planeswalker and almost get my servant killed. What say you?"

…

**Q/A & Reviews**

**Andrews31: **I want to leave constructive criticism, but this chapter feels like you wrote it drunk or half asleep. It has no flow unless the jumping around it does is the tone of the chapter you're going for. If it's an omake it would make more sense. Anyway, please when you post the sequel to this story please update this one to tell usvits up thank you.

You can say it as an interlude for the stupid jokes I can think up to that point. Sort of an Omake, but still relevant to the story. Cheers

**Hexenbiest:** A million and one Negative points for STATURARY RAPE!

Well. Shit.

**Animo fanfiction**: Dragon bow to neither "man nor Gods."

Also, Angel, Demon, Giant, Plant, Wall, Sapporing, Bushwagg, Beast, Eldrazi, Construct, or any of the 251 creature types in MTG.

**Animo fanfiction**: The family so weird I love it!

Glad you love it!

…

They fucked up alright. Or so Sorin thought.

The bitch Arlinn Kord just shrugs it off as if it was no big deal. She even dared to look at him with such unrepented eyes he wants to tear her throat off. It would not be easy fight and unleashing that amount of power in Ugin's sanctum would draw the dragon ire, but killing a mother of his servant would not inspire much loyalty. So, he has to tolerate it. Until he could totally justify the action, anyway.

"Well." The she-wolf opens her mouth. "We kept the balance, as we always do."

"Keeping. Balance." Sorin repeated. Word by word. His rage continues to grow. "You have one chance to elaborate before I tear your neck off."

"We …." She opens her mouth again but Sorin interruption came quicker.

"Think before you speak. You have only one chance. It would be a shame if this is your last."

Arlinn raises her hand and about to protest. Then she becomes stoic and put it down.

After a few minutes pass, the she-wolf is back to fully operational. By this point, the pup had stop training and joined the adults. He was surprised to see Sorin here and wanted to ask a question. Luckily Vol and Narset knew how to read the room.

So, the boy's mouth was shut. To be clear, he didn't keep it shut on his own.

The sentence "Shhhh, Jon. The adults are taking business." was used.

"Alright. It all started when we found who the necromancer was. I supposed you already knew and somehow didn't bother to tell us. A test for Jon, perhaps." Arlinn looks at the ancient vampire right in his eyes and starts her story. "Liliana Vess. I heard she want to kill some demon trapped in the Helvault. We also heard about another planeswalker who is hunting her down. Garruk Wildspeaker, I am sure you heard about him. So, you see, what we did was the best course of action we could take."

"So, you directly confront Garruk instead of being an oriole behind a mantis?" Sorin asked back.

…

Jon is confused. He got that Lord Sorin demanded an answer as to why did they pick a fight with Garruk. Even he wondered whether it was the right decision. They almost died, for crying out loud. He trusted his mother knew what she was doing then, and he still does now. She must have a good enough reason, and Lord Sorin's questioning would be a great opportunity for him to learn.

Then the vampire asked why they did not become a bird behind a bug? What?

Is that a code for something?

He looked at auntie Narset and uncle Vol. They seem to understand what's going on.

"Aunt Narset. What are they talking about?" He whispers. Not wanting to disturb the conversation that is going on. His mother said something about having two planeswalkers makes things too unpredictable. Something she copied from Ugin, no doubt.

"What part did you don't understand?" she whispers back. "I think everything is clear."

"Narset, you must remember that the brat doesn't have a clue about idioms." Uncle Vol faintly joins in. "The mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind."

Aunt Narset nods at uncle Vol words. Whatever that means, it helps him fuck all in better understanding the situation. Why is there another bug involves now? And what in the Devil's Breach are idioms.

Meanwhile, his mother is drawing some sort of map on the wall. Ugin would not be pleased if it was discovered. Knowing his mother, it would probably be up to him to clean it.

"It's an old saying that means someone who is attracted by immediate interests without thinking about the possible dangerous results. In Sorin's usage, he asked why did you two confront Garruk directly instead of after his inevitable fight with the necromancer." Aunt Narset explains. "That is the simplified first layer of that analogy. As for the deeper layer, you will learn when you're older."

"What's an analogy?" Jon asked. This is going to be a long conversation to have. It's not his problem that the adults forget to educate him on this matter.

…

The vampire is pissed, but that what he already expected from talking to the she-wolf. She didn't see any problem with her management of her son's assignment. Their mission was to find out Liliana's motive and if possible, stop her. Removing Garruk when they already knew what Liliana would do made perfect sense to her. They knew of her plans about the Helvault. They could prepare for her upcoming move. Mission finished. What's the problem?

Sorin, on the other hand, preferred a more concrete result. It was true that the assignment was completed, but he expected the boy to go above and beyond.

"Why are you so worried about Helvault?" Countered the she-wolf "That thing existed since forever and it had never once been interfered with, let alone broken. What could a lone necromancer do when countless demons, witches, and vampires couldn't. Unless you know some secret that we do not."

Sorin, for once, doesn't respond. He just glares. Bat-glare. He is considering something, for sure. Weighing the pros and cons, as any leader should.

There are a lot of pros. His pawns will understand the significance of the Helvault, learn about the biggest secret of Innistrad, and marvels about his once invincible prowess. They would be easier to control.

There is but one con. He had to tell them about Nahiri. It is bad enough that the two idiots think that she was his wife. True, he created Avacyn in her image, but that didn't mean fucking anything. Let alone, he had to admit how he fucked up and locked both on them inside the Helvault.

One thing the ancient vampire hate is to admit his past mistake.

Good thing he possesses information that will shock their way out of this losing situation. The necromancers already gathered their army. Thraben will be under siege soon, and he could make it sound like their fault.

So, he sterns his face and grunts. "Fools! The army of the dead is about to march on Thraben. What great work you two did. This may escape your tiny minds but when Thraben fell, all the balance would be lost, and everything would go extinct."

It actually would but it would take a long time for everything to spiral out of control. Without Thraben, humanity would fall. Without humanity, there would be no food for vampires, and they would turn on each other. Without humanity, werewolves cannot increase their number. Without humanity to supply their faith, angels are meaningless. Everything and everyone will fight each other to extinction.

In about … well …. centuries. It does not sound so bad for a short-lived mortal. Unfortunately, Sorin is anything but.

With that, Arlinn looks at him with such unemotional eyes as if to say "A bit too dramatic, don't you think?"

Every action this bitch takes seems to make his fuse shorter and shorter.

"if that scenario really happens, then I will be very displeased and will hold you two responsible. Believe me, you will not want to face me when I am angry." With that, he turns and points at Jon. "Especially you, Snow. If your mother and Ugin can't make you a useful serf, then I will be forced to take a drastic measure."

"What about the Helvault?" asked Arlinn.

"Forget about that. Only those who possessed a specific Avacyn's blessing could unlock it. On that note, make sure to kill them if they decide to do so. Just in case." He waves. "And Snow."

The boy startles. "Yes, my lord?" asked.

"Don't ever say I never gave you something nice." Sorin unleashes his spell at its maximum power. Tendrils of pure black mana envelopes Jon completely. The boy is at his complete mercy. If he wants the boy to die, he would. If he wants the boy to be fully healed and better than ever, he would.

And that is exactly what happened. The boy's blood is surely strong enough, he just kicks its regenerative property to high gear. Such is a wonder of Sorin's sangromancy.

"Also, tell Ugin that some idiot elf had destroyed another Eldrazi's binding. He better be prepared for war." Only then he planeswalks away without looking back, ignoring the mother and son duo, and especially Ugin's lackeys behind him.

…

Jon soon learns that the cold air of Tarkir can remains still even after Lord Sorin had left the plane. Tension. Tension. Tension. It is something that he never gets used to in this family. The multiverse is always full of surprises, and there is always something going on.

And batshit crazy things happen very frequently when you live with four other planeswalkers.

"Well. Nobody got hurt. That went better than I expected." Said Arlinn.

According to Jon's logic, his mother's words imply that she anticipated Sorin at least lashing out in anger. Which meant she probably knew that situation could occur since she decided to fight Garruk. That also meant she either planned that many steps ahead or not planned ahead at all. Both are reckless in their own way and Jon isn't sure which one is worse.

"What now?" Asked Jon. "What about Eldrazi's binding and the elf?"

"Not our problem, Jon. Let Ugin handle it." She waved it off, ignoring the presence of the two Tarkirians in the room.

"Well, it's our problem." Grumbled Vol. If this is anyone else, he might be annoyed. Luckily, Vol is surprisingly understanding planeswalker. Must be some by-product of time travel after regaining sanity thing. "Actually, it's Ugin's problem, but it would soon be ours if we want to continue staying on Tarkir."

"Point. Exactly." Arlinn's voice is like a rock. She locks Jon's head in her arm and starts laughing.

"Let's go before Sorin changes his mind. If we are fast enough you might score some heroic point warning that cathar girl of yours. Or you could wait until she is overrun and swept her away. A wolf in shining fur."

"MOTHER!"

…

Moorlands. A hive of scum and villainy. At least that what's Thalia feels like right now. The murmur tales of a horde of zombies innumerable marching toward the city sprang up as frequently as she breathed. The rumor itself was quelled as quickly as it spread, but a new worse one seemed to always take up its place.

And she lived in Thraben, the most secured place in the plane. The church has the most power here. This is where they are strongest. This is where they are safest. Yet, people are in a panic. Cowards.

The higher-ups had ordered the city lockdown. Nothing shall pass through the gates or walls, whether dead or alive. The supplied are requisitioned from the mass. The food is rationed. The men and women are levied and armed. Even an idiot would realize that the city is preparing for a siege.

Thraben had never been under siege in how many centuries. Then again, they used to have Avacyn and her full flight on their side. Now Avacyn is gone, and the angelic flight is scattered throughout the plane.

Thinking about the current situation, Thalia lets out a long sign. The battle to come would be messy, but that what she was training for. It is what she prepared for should …. No …. When she takes up the mantle of the guardian from Lothar.

This battle would be her greatest test. The one she aims to pass with flying color.

That should take her mind off Jon. The bastard seems to vanish into thin air despite her best effort of locating him. Then again, she couldn't ask around for a suspected werewolf boy without giving information that will implicate her, didn't she?

**It's not that she missed him or anything.**

…

The forest is quiet. Too unnaturally quiet. No birds. No beasts. And It makes sense when anything that isn't dead instinctively stays clear from a zombie horde the size Innistrad had never seen in many centuries. Well, that was true until a mother and son emerge from the blind eternity.

"Home sweet home" uttered Arlinn Kord as she emerges from the blind eternity along with her son.

"Do you have to say that every time we return, mother?" Asked the pup.

Arlinn tempts to smack him in the head, but she knows her pup is too slippery for that now. So, she only grins but does not answer.

And Jon knows too well what that grin means. So, he keeps his mouth shut. Good.

"Anyway. Since I did not care for the slightest how bad Thraben would be after the siege ended. And, you have a sweetheart in there. You can take the lead in the planning, Jon. A test on your judgment if you will." Nonchalantly said the she-wolf. "You have … well … few hours."

"Few hours!" Jon yells. "How can I come up with a good plan in only a few hours!"

Arlinn snorts. Her son always walks too close to a line between careful and cowardice than what she is comfortable with. His self-doubt is something that she could not rid of no matter how hard she tried.

Not that she tried really hard. Arlinn doesn't know how to mother.

"We don't need a good plan, Jon. A semi-decent one is good enough. As a planeswalker, trouble always seeks us one way or another. You must learn to think on the fly. And if things blow up at your face, you must also learn to deal with it." She said. "How can you become experience when you had not made mistakes here and there along the way?"

"Aren't you supposed to give me a trial where failure means a small consequence and a wound pride?" The boy retorted. Had his mother been anyone else, that might change her mind a little.

Too bad his mother is Arlinn Kord. It is impossible for him to change her mind with mere words.

"Who's the mother here, me or you?" That makes Jon winces. "That's what I thought."

…

Jon soon finds himself going into a metaphysical placed called "The Tank" as he slowly walks out of the forest. He doesn't know why it is called "The tank" but everyone he talked to use that term and at this point, he is too afraid to ask.

What is his mother always say again? _"Don't just fight hard, fight smart."_ Or is it "_Do what I say, not copy what I do."_ He couldn't quite remember. Perhaps both are true, perhaps not. But how could he fight smart?

Perhaps his auntie and uncle's wisdom would help. What does auntie Narset always say again? _"The enemy of my enemy is my friend."_ but uncle Vol always says _"Friend is an enemy who hasn't attack you yet."_

Enemy. Friend. Smart. Attack. Say. Do. Hard. Smart. Fight. _Well that help him fuck all!_

Then Jon decides to screw that thought and draw another wisdom from a more reliable source.

Sorin? No, the vampire is too dominating, and Jon doesn't have what it takes to do the same.

"_When the weak tried to emulate the strong, they die a horrible death."_ That's what Atarka said to him. Not that he would trust another word from that bitch of a dragon ever again, but her words hold true.

Surrak? He doesn't think punching the head off an entire zombie horde is achievable.

Sakta? Nope. Definitely not. Not after what she did. Sure, he didn't feel so bad now, but no on principle.

Then Ugin? The old wyrm said a lot of things, but Jon does not understand even half of it. Unlike the others, Ugin always shares his wisdom during his lecture. Too much wisdom too little subtance, if Jon had the courage to say it to the dragon face.

Who else then? Tamiyo? Hmm. He only met her once but she seems irritated by his mother but still called her a friend so she must be wise. What would she do in his situation again? Observe, probably.

Well, that didn't help.

Perhaps another elder dragon would do. Vaevictis Asmadi? That damn dragon went silent recently and Jon doesn't have a slightest idea why. All he knows that the dragon is an untrustworthy schemer. But perhaps schemer is what he needed to be right now. So, what would Vaevictis do in this situation?

Manipulating others to do your work. Send your enemy to fight each other. Make sure you come out on top. What's the phrase he used again? "_Willingly lose a battle to win a war. Sacrifice the limbs to keep on living._" Yes, that's what he claimed to do.

Wait.

_The mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind._

Mantis. Cicada. Oriole. Twist. Lick. Dunk. _Wait what?_

In a moment of brilliance, it hit him. Jon goes into a trance and starts seeing letters and numbers appeared out of thin air. Lines that connect each component of his plans draw itself.

Thraben cannot fall or Lord Sorin will hold him responsible. It neither makes sense nor fair, but that's how lord Sorin does things. Then again, he does not mention that Thraben couldn't suffer a great loss. The severe the damage, the more effort of rebuilding, which gives the creature of the night a free reign over Innistrad for a time. That's the best outcome for the denizens of Ulwenvald.

Well, at least he is on to something. The goal is clear. He just needs to find a way to reach it. Then another thought emerges in his mind.

What if the destruction of Thraben was not the necromancers' true goal?

Liliana wants to open the Helvault. Maybe the key is kept somewhere in Thraben? If that is the case, then the siege is just a distraction? A cicada that an Oriole deployed. If that is the case, what then?

Lord Sorin said that only those with a specific Avacyn's blessing could open the Helvault. So, Liliana needs to capture one, possibly the Lunarch. So, as long as the Lunarch is alive and is in hiding then Thraben will be held hostage. But if the Lunarch is dead, then there is no point in attacking Thraben anymore?

No. Liliana could still attack Thraben just to get the next best thing. There is no guarantee that only the Lunarch could open the Helvault. Perhaps any cardinal or high ranking cathar would do.

But what if Liliana had the Lunarch in her custody early on during the siege? Her goal is the Helvault so she would probably retreat right away. It would cost her a massive number of her troop but why should she care? By then she would already achieve what she came for. He just needs to make sure that she doesn't have enough body to attack Thraben again before killing off the Lunarch. That way, Tharben would be battered but still stand.

It would be a tall order, but not impossible.

Jon feels smart but he learned enough to not put much importance into that feeling. _"Triumphant pride precipitate a dizzy fall." _He isn't sure who said that one, but it is relevant. Then again, if his conjecture is wrong, he fucked. Everyone and their mother will come after his ass, or that's what mother would describe the situation.

Heh. His gut feeling tells him that it's true. No risk, no reward.

"Mother," Jon calls. "I have a plan."

…

Jon's planning took a surprisingly short time, only a few minutes. Sure, there is a lot of holes to be poked through and many details to be ironed out. Sure, it's crazy. But they did an impossible before and they would do so again.

"You want to do what!" Screamed surprised Arlinn Kord. This is the craziest plan she has ever been a part of, and somehow it dangerously makes a lot of sense. Her son was not as stupid she thought he was. That's a good thing. In fact, she is happy that inside the naïve and dense behavior Jon normally shows lies a keen mind, a schemer, and an opportunist.

What sort of mother wouldn't be proud of her boy being like this?

But he also played a very dangerous game. Saving the city by effectively killing its head.

"You heard me, mother. We are going to kill the Lunarch to save Thraben." Proudly said Jon. "But first we need to parlay with the necromancers. Just to make sure that the damage to the city is limited."

"And do you realize that you need to somehow trick the entire church to let the Lunarch somehow be vulnerable enough to be captured. Even if you pull that off, there is no way Lothar would let the Lunarch going anywhere unguarded. Not when he and his underling still draw breath." Countered Arlinn.

Jon's smile instantly drops. This can't be good. What's going on within his mind?

"Yes." Jon seems confident but something weighing him down. During their time together she knows it only means one thing. Jon isn't proud of what he is about to do.

It does not take her long to put the pieces together. Her pup is a simple man. There are not many things that he holds dear. A stupid sense of honor is one of them. A relationship is another.

"You are going to use that girl, don't you?" She asks. Knowing full well what his answer will be. But her pup must fully accept his actions and its consequence. Do or do not, there is no try. As a planeswalker, doing thing halfway always lead to disaster.

Jon solemnly nods. "What will be, will be, mother." He said. "I will make sure she stays alive."

…

In the deepest pit of Jon's mindscape, Vaevictis Asmadi smiles. His influence over the host body grows stronger by the second. The boy's thought more and more like him. Good. It would only make things easier after he takes over the body and discards the human psyche. All he needs to do is wait. Wait for the host to grow into his prime. His return is imminent. There is nothing anyone can do to stop him.

All that left to do is to seek and destroy that slippery mutt. Last time, it showed up unexpected and costed him greatly. He won't repeat that same mistake again.

Only if he knew where the mutt went. Seriously, the host's mindscape is not that big, but he just cannot find the cur.

…

**Custom Card of the Chapter**

Name: Imperfect Education

Mana Cost: 1UB

Type: Enchantment

Card Text: Whenever you draw a card, draw two cards, then discard a card instead.

Flavor Text: Jon's education isn't perfect, but it is good enough for him to survive in the multiverse. Provided that other planeswalkers aren't involve, of course.

Rarity: Rare


End file.
